


Baited

by xenobia4



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Brother/Brother Incest, Cutting, Hospitalization, Hostage Situations, Incest, Kidnapping, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Sibling Incest, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-07-12 02:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15985349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenobia4/pseuds/xenobia4
Summary: While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.





	1. Snow Driven

**1**

**Snow Driven**

“To meeting new people, right?”

“Right.”

Sam took a drink of his gas-station-bought coffee before setting it back down on the small table against the window in a motel room. Snow lightly tapped the window, blurring the view through the blinds and causing the streetlights outside to have orange orbs encircling them. Sam stared down at his cup and sloshed the liquid around before taking another sip. The man sitting across from him seemed innocent enough. A middle-aged man, who Sam had met in the main lobby of the cheap, dingy motel, was only a few doors down from where he and Dean had been bunking up for the last two days trying to hunt down, what they had heard to be, Agramon; or at least a lesser demons with similar abilities. However, while driving through, the snow storm had been so bad, the car would not drive through it, and so they ended up leaving the car parked in the woods a few miles from the motel.

Either way, the hunt was at a standstill until the demon acted up again.

Unfortunately, being on edge had both of the brothers at each others’ throats. Earlier that evening, they had each gone a separate way to find information, or, better yet, the demon itself. Coming up with nothing hours later, Sam had decided to return to the motel and look online for anything even remotely useful.

Again, it failed.

Deciding to grab a cup of coffee and continue looking, he left the room to see if there was any available in the lobby. That was when he had met this man, and found out that the motel’s coffee machine was broken and they had to go across the street, in the snow, to the gas station. Chatting about random, pointless topics, the man had been nice enough to buy Sam’s drink.

He glanced at the alarm clock on the table next to the bed: Eleven fifteen was shining in red numbers and Sam shook his head, glancing back out of the window. Dean should be back soon and Sam debated on leaving the man’s room and going back to theirs. Fatigue was finally beginning to hit him, despite the caffeine running through his system.

Cheap, gas station coffee: Hardly useful for actually staying awake.

“So what’d you say you and your brother are doing this far out?”

Sam jerked his attention to the man, shaking his fatigue, nearly stumbling over his words to answer. “Oh, um, just a road trip.”

The man raised a brow, creasing his forehead. “A road trip here? You two must have a lot of time to kill.” Sam just nodded a ‘yeah’ and took another swig of coffee, draining it. What felt like coffee grounds scratched their way down his throat and he cleared his throat after bringing the cup back down. “A strange place to stop; middle of nowhere,” the man continued, though it seemed as though he was commenting to himself.

“What about you? This isn’t exactly the place to take a leisure vacation off of work.” Sam cleared his throat again, trying to get the grounds that were stuck to his throat to go down.

The man chuckled and brought his own drink to his lips. “No kidding.” He took a sip before continuing. “I was on my way to visit my folks in Rhode Island; instead, I wind up in this shitty weather where my car decides to take a vacation. They’re working on it at the repair shop ‘bout a mile down the road. This was the only motel within walking distance.” Sam laughed lightly. “Welcome to beautiful-freakin’ West Virginia, eh?”

“Yeah.” Sam shook his head and pushed the chair back, his head pounding. “Well, it was nice meeting someone out here, at least; but I think I’m going to retire for the night.” The man brought his drink to his mouth, not commenting as Sam walked by him towards the door.

Sam grabbed his coat from where it was sitting on the dresser, though it took him two tries before he managed to actually pick it up. His vision was starting to haze. He shook his head again, slipping his coat on. He turned to the door, grabbing the handle. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to recoup and get ready for the cold to hit him in the face.

“Oh, sit down, Sammy.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows and turned his head to the side, looking at the man. Still, he sat in the chair, taking another drink.

“What?”

The man tilted the cup, finishing it and setting it down on the table. “You’re not going anywhere, just yet.” Sam blinked and his head began pounding harder, feeling as though his brain was about to burst from his skull. He tugged on the handle, only to find it locked. He glanced at the chain lock. He reached up to grab it and unlock it, but he could not seem to grab it and, instead, looked as though he was grabbing at air. The man turned to him. “It’s impolite to leave without at least saying thanks.”

Sam set his head on the door and looked at him; the entire room seemed to swirl behind the blurred figure and his voice was like an echo around him. “You drugged me?” was the only thing he asked before the room collapsed into darkness.

* * *

Dean fixed the bag on his shoulder, then tightened his coat around him, crossing his arms to keep his body heat in. The car was already gone from his view and he could see the lights from the few buildings in the distance. The wind picked up, slamming ice-cold snow in his face. He ended up walking to the next town closest, about seven miles away, which was not much larger than the “town” they were staying in. He rather thought of where they were as a village than a town. However, he was able to find out that they were getting close: A woman had murdered her husband, convinced that he was going to kill her in her sleep. The couple had a decent marriage, and their daughter had even said there were no problems with her parents’ marriage.

Seemed like enough of a fear to use.

He had tried calling Sam, but reception was impossible; whether that was due to the storm or their remote location, he could not say.

His boots crunched in the snow. Sinking in passed his angles and coating the bottom legs of his jeans in melted snow and ice. The weight from the bag on his shoulder was not helping his mood any, and it continued to slide down to where he had to constantly readjust it on his shoulder; however, he had figured, since he had to pass by the car anyway, he might as well grab the only bag left – not that its contents would be of much use, but leaving it in the car seemed like a bad idea. It was full of spare clothes wrapped around weaponry; had anyone have gone through it, they would not have bothered leaving with a bag of random clothes. Thanks to the snow, however, the car was impossible to see; not just due to be shrouded by trees, but the snow storm had completely covered the vehicle, making it to where he even had a hard time relocating it.

As he reached an old, rundown gas station with all of its windows and doors boarded up signaling he had reached the entrance of town, he could see the red, flickering neon sign for the motel and the only working gas station up ahead. Another gust of wind had snow hit his face, his extremities already numb. When he reached the door to the room, he was having difficulty digging the key out of his pocket, his hands having lost feeling. When finally managed to pull it out and insert it into the lock, he had to jiggle it before the latch clicked and he was able to open the door.

“Hey, Sam, looks like we’re closer than we thought,” he said as he walked in and shut the door behind him. He slid the bag off of his shoulder and tossed it on the table under the window before taking his coat off and setting it on the chair. He knocked the snow and ice from the cuffs of his jeans. “You’re not passed out already, are you, Sammy?” He turned to face the set of queen beds, both vacant. “Sam?” he called out, walking passed the beds towards the restroom. The door was shut, the light glowing from underneath. He knocked twice. “Hey, Sam!”

No response.

Dean raised a brow. “If you don’t answer, I’m coming in.” Still no response. “Fine.” He grabbed and turned the handle, pushing the door open. Though the light was on, the restroom was empty. He crooked his mouth. Turning away from the bathroom, he pulled out his cell phone – it had one bar of signal strength. He dialed Sam’s number and pressed the receiver to his ear. As it started to ring, his eyes darted around the room, landing on the closed laptop and opened notebook on the bed closest to the door. Walking over, he traced his eyes over what Sam had been writing; mainly speculation of information they already knew.

Sam’s voicemail picked up and Dean released a groan.

“All right, Sammy. You ignoring me now? Anyway, I think I found something – next town over. If you’d pick up your phone, you’d know that.”

He cut the message short and hung up.

Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed and flipped the laptop open, logged in the password when the screen popped up and was introduced to what Sam had been researching. Among the screens were a list of names Agramon – or the “Demon of Fear” – also went by in other myths and legends. There were a total of fifteen names, some of which Sam had been looking up.

Barbas, Mabas, Vetis.

Twenty minutes later, he shut the laptop and released a sigh. Still, no trace of Sam and a bunch of useless information. He stood and picked his coat up, deciding to look for his brother. Again, he was introduced to the below-freezing weather as he walked across the parking lot to the main building. He swung the door open, shaking when he entered the brightly lit lobby. The lobby appeared to be just as empty: A few chairs were surrounding a trio of tables, and, on the counter, there were empty cases where breakfast would be in the morning. Some aging fruit was in a basket on the front counter, which was the first thing he noticed when he approached it and knocked – his knuckles made a hollow sound on the wooden countertop.

“Hello?” he called, leaning over the counter to peer into the opened door behind the counter. When he did not get a response, he rolled his eyes and turned around, scanning back over the lobby. He grabbed what was probably a mealy apple from the basket, tossing it up and catching it before biting into it.

“Can I help you?”

He turned to see a man, about his age, coming out from the room. Dean cleared his throat at the annoyed look he was being given.

“Uh, yeah. Have you seen the guy I checked in with?”

The man raised his eyebrows. It was the same person from when they had checked in yesterday; it was understandable why he was being given the attitude. He and Dean did not exactly get the same page. Instant hostility.

“Yeah.” Dean perked up; however, when that was all he was given, he gave him a look, meaning for him to continue. “He wanted coffee, but we’re out; so he and the man from one-fifty-two went to the gas station, instead.”

Dean cursed and shook his head. He tapped his palm on the counter before pushing back. “Thanks,” he said, leaving the lobby and heading back out into the cold.

He crossed the parking lot again, this time passing the door to their room and walking down the overhang to room one-fifty-two. He pounded on the door, bringing his hands back to his mouth and breath on them, rubbing them together to keep them from going numb. When no one answered the door after a few seconds, he pounded on the door again.

“Sam, if you’re in there, open up!”

Groaning, he dug through the pockets of his coat, pulling out his pick. Glancing around him, he inserted them into the keyhole, digging through and moving the latches to unlock the door. It clicked and he opened the door, half-expecting to find it empty and half-expecting to find someone sleeping.

One of his feelings was right. The room was empty, but someone was definitely occupying it. Seeming as how there were only four cars in the parking lot, it was a pretty safe bet he had the right room. He shut the door, shoving his kit back in his pocket. He glanced around: There were two coffee cups sitting on the table against the window. As he took a step forward, his foot kicked something across the floor and under the dresser where the television was sitting. Walking over, he bent down, reaching under it and feeling around for whatever it was. When he retracted his hand back, his heart jumped to his throat.

With a cracked screen, Sam’s phone lay in his hand, showing one missed call and one new voicemail. 

* * *

Sam groaned and rolled his head to the side. He heard footsteps around him and the sound of dripping pipes. Blood pounded against his skull and his chest felt heavy. He opened his eyes, squinting, seeing the blurs of his surroundings. When he went to rub his eyes, he felt something binding his hands behind his back. Releasing another groan, he clenched his eyes shut before opening them back up; his blurred surroundings began coming into focus and he was able to make out that he was in a basement. As more came into view, he noticed pipes running along the ceiling and cement pillars holding up the foundation of, what he assumed to be, a house. There were doorways that seem to lead to other sections of the basement. He jerked his hands again, turning his head to see that they were tied and duct-taped behind one of the pipes that ran down the wall and into the cement floor. There were no windows, only light fixtures that appeared to dangle dangerously on wires; they emitted little light, roughly forty watts, and the light was absorbed by the dark gray of the cement walls and flooring.

Everything was gray or brass, giving the feel the basement was more of a dungeon.

Footsteps were heard to his left and he turned to see the man from earlier walking around him to stand in front of him. He crouched down, cocking his head and meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Who are you?” was the first question Sam released from his throat – it came out somewhat slurred, no doubt from whatever was used to drug him. Another groan escaped his throat, followed by, “What do you want?”

“Suffering.”

Sam shook his head, still trying to rid the pounding headache, now accompanied by nausea. He forced his eyes open; though the lighting was dim, it still hurt his eyes. “What?” was his initial reaction.

The man stood up, scoffing. “What’s with all the questions? Oh, look,” he clicked his tongue. “Now you’ve got me doing it, too.” He paced in front of him, his shoes clicking on the floor. Sam shut his eyes, swallowing to get the taste of acid out of his mouth. “Though, I will have to say: It was shear chance running into you. Luck, really. I’d like to know what you two were after, bringing you here, of all places,” he muttered, though it was still audible.  

Sam opened one eye, his eyebrows creasing his forehead. His stomach churned and he could feel acid rising in his throat; it took most of his self-control to swallow it back down. He released a breath and let the back of his head hit the pipe. “What do you want from me?”

He finally opened both of his eyes to look at the man when he laughed.

“You?” he chuckled. “I don’t want a damn thing from you, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Then why? What are you?”

“I don’t need to give you a reason.” Sam could only stare at him, confusion racing through his mind. The man released a throaty snort, his brown, nearly black, eyes flashed. “You really are clueless.” He jerked to Sam, putting his hands on his shoulders and leaning to where he was mere centimeters away from his face. “And I am not a ‘what’, baby boy.” Sam tensed, their eyes locking, almost death-staring each other; this man’s eyes seemed so dark, contrasting how he was earlier. There was something that he was unable to put his finger on. “I am a who; don’t group me in with those pathetic things you two have been hacking off.”

“Yeah, well, you’re about to become one of them,” he shot back.

Again, the man chuckled. The amusement in his face was gone and he slapped Sam hard across the face, causing him to cut the inside of his cheek on his teeth. Just as quickly, he forcefully grabbed Sam’s chin, digging his fingernails into the sides of his face as he made him bring his head to face him.

“Don’t screw with me.” Sam furrowed his eyebrows and the man released him, pulling back and standing up, his calm demeanor returning. “I know everything about you, Sam Winchester; so, I don’t recommend you testing your luck. You should already be thankful I haven’t decided to kill you, yet.”

Sam turned his head and spit out the blood filling his mouth before asking, “Then why haven’t you?”

The man seemed intrigued, then; as though he had been brought back to a fond memory. “Because, my dear boy, I need you alive.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he snapped, shooting a glare. “As long as you’re still kicking, your brother’s at my will.” Sam stared at him intently, trying to read him. Seeing the expression, the man seemed strangely amused. “I told you, Sammy: I have no interest in you. You just play a small part.”

Sam clenched his fists, his shoulders tensing as his heart pounded in his chest.

“What does Dean have to do with any of this? Or with you?”

The man shook his head, pulling a small, engraved blade out from underneath his jacket and tapping it on the palm of his other hand. He ran his thumb from the point of the blade down to the hilt. Moving back over to Sam, he crouched back down, meeting him at eye level.

“That’s a story for another time, all right?” he said in an awkwardly gentle manner as he brought the dagger up, running in softly from Sam’s cheek to his chin.  

“You really think Dean’s gonna fall for this?”

Sam swallowed hard, tasting the metallic flavor of his own blood as it ran down his esophagus. The man flicked the blade under Sam’s hair, moving it to where a piece fell in front of his face.

He laughed, his voice echoing off the cement walls. He shook his head, a smirk staining his face. “Oh, come on, Sammy. You and I both know that you’re no idiot; neither am I and neither is Dean. But there’s one thing that will always have him running.” Sam’s stare became more intense and he clenched his jaw. The man reached out his hand, running it down the piece of Sam’s hair that hung next to his cheek. “And that’s you.” He retracted it when Sam jerked his head away. “His instinctive urge to protect his ‘little brother’ will _always_ have him running. I’m counting on it.”


	2. Suicidal Chime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are gonna start getting confusing for Sam and Dean,   
> so make sure to pay attention. >:3

**2**

**Suicidal Chime**

Silver continued to be twirled through fingers, spinning the handle and lightly catching the blade before the actions were repeated over and over. Sam only continued to watch, though his mind drifted elsewhere as his eyes followed the movement. The man – demon, creature, _whatever-it-was_ – sighed and let his head fall back to his the wall. He turned to face Sam, the Winchester turning his head away the moment the other’s eyes were upon him.

“Dean’s sure is taking his sweet time, huh?” He released a breath of air and shook his head when Sam chose not to respond. “Ah, fine. Don’t talk to me, then,” he said as he pushed himself to a stand, pressing his back against the wall. “But it’s gonna be awkward with you just… _there_.” He gave a strange smile, gauging the other’s reaction. Seeing Sam only continue to stare at a spot on the floor, he shrugged. “You’re not upset because I hit you, are you?” Nothing. “No…you’re mad because I drugged you. Oh, that can’t be it. Sammy wouldn’t be upset about something that trivial.” He pushed off of the wall, walking and crouching back down in front of Sam at eye level. Sam’s eyes darted completely off to the side, trying to ignore him. “Don’t be like that, Sam-Sam.” Using the flat part of the blade, he pressed it against Sam’s cheek, having him turn his head to face him. “See, eye-contact is the most important part of conversation. You know, ‘windows to the soul’…or some nonsense like that.”

He traced the edge of the knife down Sam’s jaw, to his throat, and then under his chin, keeping the point lightly pressed. He cocked his head, staring with an interested gaze into Sam’s eyes.

“Go back to Hell,” Sam spat, jaw clenched.

He pursed his lips together, then shook his head. “Hm…no. I’d really rather not. But I’ll tell you what,” he started, pulling the knife away from Sam’s chin. “Since you seem to be so fascinated with Hell, I’ll try to help you live it.”

Sam knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. The man’s eyes flashed black and he jerked his knife-wielding hand forward, driving it into Sam’s right shoulder all the way to the hilt.

Sam released a yell before clenching his jaw, trying to stifle it down; it came out in a mix between a painful groan and shout. The man twisted it violently, getting one more yell, before ripping it out; blood dripped down the silver, spilling a few drops onto the cement floor. The area around the wound became coated with blood, making it visible through the blue-and-black striped button-up shirt. Sam pressed against the pipe, deeply inhaling and exhaling through his nose, waiting for the pain to fade.

There was a creek from the ceiling.

The man pulled his attention to it immediately, a smirk growing across his face.

“Perfect timing.” He looked back to Sam, amused. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hey, wait!” Sam called out just as the man disappeared through the doorway he was bound near. “Damn it….”

He tried to twist his wrists and free himself, but, between the rope and that tape, he gained little movement. He looked up, trying to see if there was anything protruding from the brass pipe that he could use to cut the binds; again, nothing. He tried to lean and look around the corner, but all he was able to see was an opened hall that led to another room.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps somewhere else in the basement.

That meant one of two things.

The latter seemed to be true when the muzzle of a pistol broke slowly through the doorway.

“Dean!” Sam called out in a breath of relief.

Sure enough, Dean’s head poked around the corner. “Sam?” He glanced around the room. “You alone?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he said as Dean brought himself the rest of the way in and put the gun to his side, bending down next to his brother.

“Hell, Sammy,” Dean exasperated, seeing his younger brother’s shoulder. “Remind me to give you one of those house arrest anklets from now on.” Seeing the duct tape around the rope, he holstered his gun and pulled out a dagger.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” He shook his head when he heard Dean breathe out a laugh.

 “So where is the son-of-a-bitch?” He angled the knife under the tape.

“I don’t know.” The blade cut through the first few layers of tape. “But listen, Dean. You gotta get out of here.”

Dean bobbed his head in a conceited manner. “Fully aware of that, buddy. Right after”—he cut through another layer of tape and began trying to cut through the rope—“we get _you_ out of _here_.”

“No, Dean, you’re not listening—”

“Damn, they tied this well.”

“Would you—”

“Sam, I think I’m aware of the situation.”

“Would you shut up and listen?!” Dean cut himself short, glancing sideways to Sam. “They’re not after me!”

Dean did not respond. Instead, he returned to the rope. Sam felt the rope loosen as Dean sawed through the layers. “So what? You’re saying this is a trap to get me?” Sam just nodded, his expression laced with annoyance and concern. “Well, if that’s true, then this would make a lot more sense.”

He pulled back, staring at Sam’s hands behind the pipe. Sam gave a confused look, noting that the tightness of rope was gone; still, his hands remained bound. Pulling them, the familiar sound of handcuffs clanged against the brass pipe.

There was a clicking sound of someone stepping and Dean spun around to be faced with a silver gun staring him straight on. His initial reaction was to reach for his own. “Don’t even think about it,” they said. Dean stopped and raised his hands up defensively. “Stand up.” He did as he was told and slowly stood.

“Hey, look, man. If you wanted to have us over for tea, you could have just asked.” His usual cocky-over-confident smile traced his features. The man laughed lightly.

“That’s cute, Dean. Now back up,” his voice and eyes became dark as he spoke, the gun angled at Dean’s chest.

Somewhat swaying his way, Dean did as he was told, hands unfaltering as he kept them in their defensive stance. He spread his arms out, exposing his entire torso. “There. Happy?”

He nodded. “Quite.”

Sam groaned, hitting his head on the pipe, attracting the man’s attention. Sam stared up at him with a bored look, mouth slightly agape.

“You’ve gotta me kidding me.” The man raised a brow. “ _This_ is your master plan? You don’t think others have tried this before?” He gave a toothless, unbelievable smile. “It’s kinda the status quo.”

He frowned. “Sammy, don’t make me shoot you.”

Sam just shook his head. “No, that’s his job.”

The man jerked his attention back to Dean, who had drawn his weapon. He smirked, flicking his head off to the side as he pointed the gun at the man’s heart. “Oops,” was all he said before firing the weapon. Two shots were fired into the man’s chest and he jerked back, hitting the portion of the doorframe; however, something seemed off as he watched the other’s chest vibrate. It took them a moment to realize, but he was laughing.

Dean’s eyes widened, the gun wavering in his hand. The man reached to touch one of the bullet holes; he pulled his hand back, looking at the blood on his fingertips. Bringing his attention back to the shooter, he gave a sympathetic look. “I can’t believe you shot me.” Sam and Dean exchanged glances. “What’s worse is you actually expected it to do something.” He pushed off of the wall.

His eyes narrowed and, suddenly, the automatic was thrown from Dean’s hand and he was thrown back, his back slamming against the wall. Sam called out his brother’s name as Dean cringed, rolling over to try and push himself up. “What the hell are you?” he asked in a groan as the man approached him. He brought back his foot, kicking Dean in the chest, keeping him from standing. He pointed the gun directly at the hunter’s face, having Dean staring down the barrel when he looked up. Seeing the expression on Dean’s face, he shrugged.

“Don’t worry.” He pulled the trigger, causing Dean to flinch; but nothing happened. “It’s not even loaded.” He fired and, again, their ears were met with a click. “I don’t like guns. They’re messy…and useless.” He tossed it off to the side, leaving it to skid across the floor and hit the wall on the far end to the left. His attention fully focused on Dean, he flicked his head up, pushing Dean against the wall and bringing him to eye level; the other cringed at the pressure. He stepped up to him, face dangerously close. He set his hands on Dean’s hips, running his hand up under the shirt.

Dean laughed nervously. “Hey, now. We could at least get a room before you—”

He cut short when the knife in his belt was taken out. Bringing the edge of the knife against Dean’s throat, the man smirked. “Shouldn’t play with weapons, boys. Someone could get hurt.” He nicked the skin close to the jugular, drawing a small amount of blood. “It could just”—he pressed the edge to Dean’s cheek—“slip.” He pressed on the blade, cutting a long, thin slice down Dean’s cheek.

“You know, you talk a lot,” Dean commented, ignoring the slight sting. “But I guess you’re gonna wanna talk all you can before I send you back to Hell.”

Again, he just laughed. “Wow. You two really are brothers.” He shook his head. His eyes flashed black again and he brought the knife down. “But you know”—he jabbed the knife under Dean’s ribs—“I’ll send you there long before you get that chance.”

“Dean!”

Dean’s shoulders tensed and he stared into the eyes of his captor as he choked, blood trailing from his mouth as blood entered his pierced lung. He jerked the blade out and cut the power he had on the eldest brother, letting him drop to the floor. The man stepped back, watching Dean press his hand to his wound and look down at the blood, before he turned to face Sam, whose eyes were glazed over as he pulled at his binds.

“No! Dean! Stand up!” The man watched him with a dull expression as he watched Sam desperately try to pull free, forcing the cuffs to cut into his wrists. He only shrugged and walked up to Sam, crouching back down in front of him, the same smirk on his face. With the same knife, he brought it up, touching it to Sam’s cheek and smearing his brother’s blood across his face before standing. Bringing back his foot, he delivered a harsh kick, laughing and shaking his head as he walked out of the doorway.

Cringing, he looked back at his brother’s slumped figure against the wall across from him, his eyes half-opened. He clenched his jaw, an estranged cry escaping his throat as he pulled against his binds again.

“Sam!”

He stopped, staring, having just heard his brother’s voice. His eyebrows furrowed upwards, realizing it was in his head. He tugged again, thinking that the links might give if he could pull hard enough.

“Sammy! Damn it, stop!”

He stopped suddenly, eyes meeting Dean’s as his brother knelt in front him, his hands gripping the sides of Sam’s face. Dean was staring at him intently as Sam’s continued to dart around. A wave of confusion washed over him and he glanced to the far wall where he brother lay – but the space was vacant: No body. Looking back to his brother, his eyebrows knitted together, eyes still watering.

“Dean?”

He just nodded. “Not the tooth fairy, Sammy.”

Sam just continued searching his brother’s face. “But you were…there and…I just—”

“Slow down, Sam.”

Sam swallowed hard as Dean’s hands set on his shoulders. “I just saw you get stabbed.”

Dean looked down at his body before shaking his head. “Um…nope. Pretty sure I’d know if someone stuck me with a knife.” He patted Sam’s shoulders and moved back next to him. “Now let’s get these damn things off.” He pulled out his lock pick and inserted it into the keyhole for the cuffs. Sam continued to look around the room.

“Where’d he go?” he asked frantically.

Dean glanced at him. “Where’d who go?”

“Don’t mess with me, Dean! The guy!” Dean just raised his eyebrows before focusing back on the cuffs. “The man that was just here!”

“Sam, the only people that I’ve seen down here is you and me.” They clicked and he put the picks back in his jacket pocket, removing the cuffs. “You cut yourself pretty good,” he commented, referring to the cuts Sam inflicted by struggling against them.

Sam took his hands back, rubbing his wrists as he and Dean made eye contact. “You really didn’t see anyone?”

Dean pursed his lips together and shook his head. “Nope.” He grabbed Sam’s forearm and pulled him to his feet as he stood. “So what? You think it was the demon?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m not sure if it is.”

Dean fixed his jacket, glancing around. “Yeah, well, I say we find the son of a bitch, kill him and get out of here. Should account for a decent night.” He looked at Sam, raising his eyebrows and giving a cocky smile. Sam rolled his eyes and followed after Dean as he left the room, but not before glancing back at the wall where he had seen his brother get stabbed.  He glanced at the ground, shaking his head and following after.

Drawing his pistol, Dean held it down in front of him, glancing around each corner. Thinking he heard something being stepped on behind him, Sam turned to look, his hand gripping his wounded shoulder.

There was no one there and he turned back, keeping his eyes scanning the area for anything or anyone. The basement of the building apparently had sublevels and, twice, they ended up in a back room – empty, nonetheless. Dean frowned as they walked out of one of the back rooms.

“Sam, are you sure you didn’t just tie yourself up down here?” the question, clearly meant as a joke.

Sam scoffed. “Yeah. Right after I stabbed myself in the shoulder.”

Dean clicked his tongue. “See? I knew it. You attention-starved drama queen.” He grinned as he arced his neck to look around another corner. He glanced back to Sam, bobbing his head and disappearing into the room, the staircase leading upstairs several feet in front of him. He peered up; the door at the top of the stairs was still cracked open – how he left it when he came down. He glanced over his shoulder to Sam, but saw no one.

“Sam?”

Turning back to the front, he jumped.

“Damn it, Sam. Don’t do that!” he cursed at him, shaking his head, then staring up at his brother, who now stood in front of him. He furrowed his eyebrows together. “What the hell are you doing?” When Sam did not respond, Dean’s grip tightened on his weapon he now held next to him. Sam’s eyes were shining and fearful as he brought up a knife. Dean jerked his head down, feeling for his dagger, only to realize it was gone, now being held by his younger brother. He brought up the gun, heart racing. “Sammy…what are you doing?”

Sam had the knife’s edge facing inward as he brought it to his neck. “Dean…help me….”

Dean held out his free hand, open-palm. “Sam…just put the knife down.”

Sam shook his head, hand shaking. “I – I can’t. I can’t stop myself,” he said, voice shaking. His knuckles were white, gripping the handle.

Dean brought down the gun, putting it back in his pocket underneath his jacket as he took a cautious step forward. He held out his hand. “Come on, Sam. Fight it.” His voice was stern, trying to keep his racing heart from making his own voice quiver. “Give me the knife.” He watched Sam’s eyebrows create creases in his forehead. He glanced from the tightly held blade to Sam’s eyes: Fear and helplessness. His heart sunk.

Sam’s hand shook violently as he tried to pull it away; it was as though a magnet were forcing it closer and closer. There seemed to be a change in the air, suddenly, and Sam’s hand relaxed, finally pulling the knife away. Dean heard footsteps behind him and he looked back over his shoulder to see a middle-aged man grinning.

“I don’t think so.”

Dean immediately pulled his attention back to Sam, whose eyes flew open.

“Dean!”

“Sam!”

In one instant, Sam’s hand came back up and he stuck the knife to the hilt into his throat, slicing horizontally.

“NO!!” His next split open, spraying blood onto Dean as Sam’s body fell backwards, his head barely attached to his neck as his body hit the cement floor with a thud. “SAMMY!” Dean fell forward, dropping to his knees next to his brother, eyes stinging as tears fell free. Yet, when his knees touched the floor, Sam was gone. His hands hovering where Sam had just fallen, his eyes darted around. He jerked his head back to the doorway behind him, where the man had stood, but it was bare. When he went to wipe his face, there was no blood. He jumped to his feet, pulling the gun back out and heading back through the doorframe.

“Sam!” he called out, not seeing him. He held the gun out in front of him, rushing through the rooms, looking for him. “Sam!” When he reached one of the back rooms, he tensed and brought the gun pointing directly in front of him. “Let him go.”

The man pursed his lips together, acting to think, before shaking his head. “No. I really don’t believe that to be in my best interest.” His arm tightened around Sam’s chest and neck as he held a knife to Sam’s throat. It did not take Dean long to recognize his own knife; how the man managed to acquire it, he did not know and he was not about to ask. “You know, it’s almost eerie how similar you two are.” Dean traced the trigger.

“Oh? And how’s that?” His eyes quickly darted to Sam, who, obviously, did not care; he looked more annoyed than concerned.

“Because”—Dean’s attention fell back on the man—“you two are the same in so many ways: Same will, same fears, same…thoughts.” He shrugged. “Interesting to play around with, really.”

Dean released a laugh that sounded more like a snort. “Yeah, well, right now the only thought in my head is to put this bullet through your head.”

“Go ahead, but, I can promise you, I’ll split little Sammy’s neck here clear off before you even manage to squeeze that trigger. Not that it would even do much.” He smirked. “You’ll just really piss me off. But since you like to play with guns so much, I have a better idea.”

Dean clenched his eyes shut, jerked his head off to the side; his head suddenly felt like it was splitting open. He could feel his blood pounding against his skull and he rubbed his forehead with his free hand. He opened his eyes, staring at the pistol in front of him, scanning his eyes up and down the barrel. Bringing his other hand down, he stood straight, pressing the shaft against his temple. His eyes became distant and his index finger lay over the trigger.

“Dean, stop!” Sam shouted, fighting to get away, but the man – or demon – had beyond-human strength.

He held the knife closer to Sam’s jugular. “Oh, chill out, Sammy. Lay back and enjoy the show.”

Sam stared in horror. Dean’s eyes shimmered, and he was looking at Sam, though it more as though he was looking _through_ him. His index slowly began squeezing the trigger.

“NO!” Sam jerked violently, getting nowhere. The man’s eyes gleamed with sadistic amusement. “Stop it! Don’t!” he shouted, heart pounding so ferociously that it felt as though it was going to burst through his ribcage. “Please! Don’t do this! What the hell do you want from us?!”

Dean stopped, the trigger dangerously taught, as the man seem to truly ponder the question. “What do I want?” he asked rhetorically as he laughed. “Dear, Samuel. You truly are innocent, aren’t you? Being kept in the dark this long.” Sam clenched his jaw. “Why don’t you ask your brother before he blows his brains out?” He pulled his attention to Dean. “Go ahead, Dean. Tell your little brother what you did.”

Dean’s eyes glistened as he met Sam’s, the gun still pressing against his temple. His lips moved and shook as he tried to respond. He finally managed to get out, “I don’t know….”

The man’s eyes flashed black and his mouth formed into a thin line; rage flowing across his features. “You let my wife die. Well…you and your father did, anyway. Your father exorcised her and didn’t bat an eye when “she didn’t make it” – taking away the only thing I ever cared about.”

Dean released a breath. “So what? You sold your soul or some nonsense like that?” he asked, his sarcastic tone returning.

“Something like that.” His eyes went completely black. “But you can’t really sell something that was never there.”

Sam tried glancing back when Dean’s eyes seem to widen in realization. “Wait….” The man grinned. “But you’re…Belial—”

“What? You think we can’t fall in love, too? You think only you mortals get to do it?” Dean clamped his eyes shut again, face overcome with pain. When he opened his eyes again, they were hollow and he returned to staring blankly at Sam in front of him, his finger, once again, slowly tightening around the trigger.

“Wait! Stop!” Sam shouted again, thrashing. “Look, whatever you want, use me.”

Dean’s grip faltered and the demon looked at Sam, clearly interested.

“You?”

Sam watched Dean; his blank stare sank into him, making him feel cold. “Just, please…. I promise I won’t fight…I won’t try anything.” His eyes began shining and he swallowed hard. “Please…don’t hurt him.”

The demon – Belial – raised his eyebrows, black eyes gleaming. “Oh, Sammy. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You know promises aren’t to be done lightly.”

Sam nodded, or tried to nod as best as he could. “I know…..”

Belial smiled, eyes dark. “Fine. You have a deal.” With his knife-wielding hand, he waved it. In the instant, Dean collapsed, the gun falling from his hand as he fell to the floor, unconscious.


	3. Block Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are at the hands of a manipulative demon.  
> I really loved working on this fic~♥

**3**

**Block Mind**

Dean groaned, rolling his head to the side. He heard something clang around him, but he was too unwilling to open his eyes to find out what. His head throbbed in pain, and, when he cracked his eyes open, it made the pain worse; his immediate reaction was to close his eyes again. When he rolled onto his side to try and stand up, he felt something catch his throat. Forcing his eyes open, his surroundings were gray and bleak – he was in one of the back rooms in the basement. A small, rectangular window was high up on the wall near the ceiling to his left – snow blocking any view to the outside – and the doorway was directly in front him on the other side of the room. Bringing his hands up, he touched a metal bar that seemed to be wrapped in a circle around his neck. Turning his head, he saw two sets of chains, attached to the pipes, coming down and attaching them to the circle of metal around his neck, keeping him from making any escapes.

He cringed when his head pounded harder, trying to remember what happened.

He recalled being able to see himself holding a gun to his head and—

_Sam!_

He jerked, frantically looking around the room: It was bare, sans for himself. The adrenaline rush made his headache worse and he fell back against the wall. Shaking his head, he looked up at the chains, reaching up and tugging on them. Nothing happened, though he was not exactly sure what he was expecting to happen. He looked down on his person: His jacket was gone, as were his weapons and his lock picking kit.

“Damn it….”

With his hand on the wall, he pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly and bringing his gaze downwards to his ankles: There were chains around both of them and he groaned in annoyance, rolling his neck.

He looked towards the entryway when he heard footsteps echoing off the walls.

“Now this is a site,” Belial spoke, grinning as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Seems a little primeval, if you ask me,” Dean responded immediately as he looked around.

He shook his head, chuckling as he brought his arms down and took a step forward. “Anyone ever told you that your mouth could get you into trouble?”

“All the time.”

“Hmph. I bet they have. But,” he started, stepping just out of arm’s reach in front of Dean, “did you ever realize it’ll also get your brother into trouble?”

The smug smirk fell from Dean’s face as his demeanor became protective. “You better not lay a hand on my brother.”

Belial merely scoffed. “You’re not really in any position to be giving orders. But I’ll do you a favour.” Dean’s jaw became tense, eyes piercing. “I’ll tell little Sammy you said ‘hi’.”

“You son of a bitch!” he shouted, jerking against the binds. All it accomplished was choking him. He fell back against the wall, watching as Belial left the room, grinning.

* * *

Sam’s shoulder throbbed; despite being caused however long ago, it continued to bleed, though not as much. The position of his arms and they way his shoulder was bent definitely did not help in aiding the pain in any way. His hands returned to their bound position behind a pipe – this time a different pipe – with duct tape. He heard footsteps outside the doorway before the familiar face entered. He raised an eyebrow, watching Belial move to lean against the wall.

“So…this is it?” he asked, sounding bored. “What are you trying to do? Starve me?”

Belial clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Don’t give me any ideas.” Seeing Sam’s eyebrows raise, he shook his head. “No,” he said, pushing off the wall and beginning to walk over in front of him. “Why would I waste this moment, Samuel? I mean, look who I have,” he said, giving Sam a look of shear amusement. “Do you have any idea how many others would love to have you or your brother? And here I am…with both of you.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Both of us?” Belial just nodded, pulling out the knife confiscated from Dean and picking at his nails with it. “I thought you said you’d let Dean go?” His voice was stern, as was his expression; but Belial just pursed his lips together and shook his head.

“Nope.” He did not even look at Sam, only continued to pick at his nails. “I said that I wouldn’t hurt him – well, I wouldn’t kill him; not that I wouldn’t keep him.” He smirked, seeing the disheartened and angered look on Sam’s face. “You really need to word things differently, Sam.” He walked up to Sam and crouched down, pressing the knife to his cheek. “That annoys me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, boredom tracing his face. “What?”

“That pretty-boy face of yours.” He slid the knife down Sam’s cheek, creating a long, thin slice. He smiled, as though he was an artist finishing a portrait. “There. Much better.”

Sam sneered. “You’re sick.”

Belial chuckled, right before he brought up his fist and punched Sam across the face. He grabbed Sam’s chin, digging his fingernails into the sides of his face. “Don’t mock me, Sam; you’re really not in any position to do so.” Sam pulled his head away as Belial took to a stance. He stretched his arms above his head, his back was heard popping. He groaned as he let his arms drop back to his sides and he popped his neck. “You know, I was expecting you two to present more of a problem to me; your capture was all too…easy.” He waved his hand. “ _Brotherly Love_ or some nonsense like that, I suppose? Tell me, Sam: Exactly…how _much_ do you care about Dean?” He shrugged and walked towards the entryway, his back to Sam. “For brothers, you two seem awfully”—he turned to look at Sam over his shoulder—“close.” He smirked, releasing a small, throaty laugh as he turned back, facing the door. “Not that it much matters, really. I have no interest in what you two do in your spare time.”

Sam scoffed. “You’re pretty twisted, if that ever crossed your mind.”

Belial waved his hand in an uncaring manner. “It’s not just my mind it’s crossed.” He set his hand on the doorframe before turning around, facing Sam and pressing his back against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. “Is it, Sammy?”

Sam’s jaw tensed, despite the unfazed look he was trying to portray on his face. He shook his head slightly, his hair barely moving. “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

Again, Belial chuckled. He pushed off of the wall, crossing the room to crouch back down in front of Sam. He shook his head at the floor before lifting up to meet Sam’s glare. “Sammy, I’m going to tell you this because I like you: There are two types of people I can’t stand. One type is people that just annoy the hell out of me. You know…hitchhikers, preachers, pedophiles, people that talk in movies.” He paused, reading Sam’s uncaring attitude. “And the second…do you know what that is? Do you even want to fathom a guess?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No, what?” His eyebrows were up, creasing his forehead.

Belial smiled, eyes dark. “Those other type of people, Sam, that I can’t stand,” there was a glint of silver, “is liars!” he yelled at him, gripping the dagger and burying it in the right side of Sam’s chest. Sam’s body tensed as he clamped his eyes shut, releasing a shout that bounced off the walls. “They! Piss! Me! Off!” with each word, Belial stuck Sam over and over again in the chest, drawing more and more blood with each wound.

He pulled the knife down, watching as Sam panted and pressed against the pipe, chest rising a falling rapidly. Belial reached up his free hand and grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair, forcing him to stare into his face as he pressed the blood-covered blade to Sam’s face. “Let’s try that again, Sammy. And don’t lie to me – it’s pointless, anyway. I already know everything that goes on in your head.” He ran the blade down Sam’s cheek, across his jaw and down his neck, stopping at the collar of his shirt. “Inside your sick, sick little mind.” He nicked the skin, gaining a small amount of blood as he took the knife back, but not before wiping the blood off on Sam’s shirt, which was already matted with splotches of blood from the wounds.

Sam’s jaw stayed firmly clenched, not wanting to say another thing that would result in more injuries. With each inhale and exhale, the stab marks on his chest would expand and stretch, making him cringe.

“Good call,” Belial said, seeming satisfied as he stood up. “And don’t worry. This little secret will stay between us.”

* * *

The light overhead continued to buzz as it flickered, continually casting shadows on the angled features of Dean’s face. His hands were bloody and worn from constantly pulling on the chains, trying to get the links to break; every few minutes, he would try again, trying more and more to weaken them. There was the sound of dripping pipes somewhere in the basement, which made him wonder how long the house they were in had been left abandoned for water to still be connected to the house.

Loud shouting pierced through the silence and made him jump. Instinctively, he pulled against his binds, but fell back against the wall when it caught his ankles. He felt his heart rate increase when there was a second shout.

“Sam!” he yelled out, though he was unsure why he was expecting a response. The silence returned and Dan growled. Looking up, he grabbed the chains again, pulling on them, continually cutting into his palms. There was a noise from the outside of the room and he stood straight, turning towards the door and dropping his hold on the chains; his mouth tensed as he tried to peer around the corner to see what it was. His shoulders dropped when he saw Sam duck into the room and press his back against the wall, peering around the corner where he had come.

“Sam?” he asked in near disbelief.

Sam snapped his head to his brother, just realizing he was in the same room. “Dean?”

Dean shook his head. “What happened?” he asked, referring to the shouting.

Sam, shaking, shook his head, too as he stepped away from the wall. “I – I don’t know. He got me with the knife and…next thing I knew—”

“Wait,” Dean cut him off and having Sam give him a curious look. “How can I be sure it’s you?”

Sam scoffed. “Really, Dean?” Dean shrugged, giving him a look that screamed ‘what do you want me to do?’. “Your taste in music sucks.”

Dean laughed nervously and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Big Shot. Well, I don’t really care what you think of my music, just…get me outta here.” Sam crooked his mouth to his usual awkward and disbelieving smirk as he walked up to his brother and gripped one of the chains, looking up to where it was connected to the pipe overhead. “And, for the record, we’re blaring Kansas until we get to the next town.” Sam laughed lightly and knelt down to tug at the chains around Dean’s ankles, trying to find the lock. His eyebrows furrowed together when he was unable to locate one. “What’s wrong?”

Same exhaled a breath of frustration. He looked up at his brother, his forehead creasing. “You don’t happen to have your kit with you, do you?”

Dean shut his eyes, releasing the same breath. “Damn it.” Sam stood up and made an about-face. “Where are you going?” he asked as Sam began walking away.

“Well, I can’t just break it with my bare hands, Dean,” he snapped back. “I gotta go find something to pick the lock with.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. Hurry up, though, would you?”

Sam waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder and exited the room. Dean sighed and leaned back against the wall. He continued to listen to the pipes dripping, waiting to hear any other sign that Sam was coming back. After a few minutes passed, he heard steps clicking on the cement outside the door. He tried to arch his neck to get a better view, but the chains gave him limited mobility. He cursed and looked up at the pipe the chains were wrapped around.

“Well, I found it.”

Dean brought his attention back to the empty doorway as he heard Sam’s voice.

“Okay,” he responded, annoyed. “Then get me the hell out of here.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“Um…I can’t really do that.”

“What? Why?”

He stood straight when Sam came back into the room, though it was more as though he was being pushed into the room. Belial held Sam’s arm tightly behind his back and the knife pressed to his throat, tracing his jugular. With his head, Sam motioned to the demon holding him, which only received a ‘no-shit’ look from the other Winchester.

Belial smiled at Dean, his overconfident smirk on his face. “Well, hello again, Dean.” With a sarcastic smile, Dean brought up his hand in a partial wave of acknowledgement. “You know, how you two have ever managed to survive this long with the stupid stunts you pull is completely beyond me.”

Dean shrugged. “You and me both.” He glanced to Sam, who hardly even seemed to be trying to get away. His look seemed to have spoken louder than he thought, whereas Belial was quick to respond.

“Oh, Sam can’t really fight me, Dean,” he spoke, putting emphasis on Dean’s name. “Not without putting you at risk, anyway.”

Face stern, Dean looked from Belial to Sam. “Sam…what the hell’s he talking about it.” They made eye contact. With his jaw muscles clenched, Sam’s eyebrows were still furrowed upwards, creasing his forehead, as his eyes shimmered, looking remorseful. Dean just stared at him in incredulity. “Sam…you didn’t….” Dean took in a deep breath before saying, “Damn it, Sammy! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“He was gonna kill you, Dean!” Dean scoffed and broke eye contact. “I’m not going to apologize for saving your ass!”

He looked back to Sam in annoyance. “Yeah, and how great that’s panned out! Your stupid actions are going to get us both killed!” Sam’s mouth closed to a thin line and he looked away from Dean’s glare.

“Girls, girls,” Belial clicked with an amused smile. “Play nice. You know, since we’re all talking about our feelings and being all touchy-touchy, Sammy here has a little something he wants to tell you, Dean.” He sent a sly smirk to Sam, who caught it from his peripheral vision. Dean furrowed his brows and looked from Sam to Belial. When Sam stayed silent, Belial jerked Sam and twisted Sam’s arm back, forcing his shoulder to crack as he pressed the edge of the blade under his chin; a small trail of blood trickled down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

“Go ahead, Sammy. Don’t be shy. Tell Dean what you really think about him.” A smirk graced his features as he watched Dean’s wide-eyed reaction to his younger brother’s position.

Despite face twisted in pain, Sam tried to move his position to get the other to release his arm. It failed.

“You’re sick.”

Belial chuckled. Shaking his head, he inhaled deeply, looking from Dean to Sam. “Oh, Sammy.” He jerked and twisted Sam’s arm; there was a sickening crack and Sam released a cry as the bone snapped and tendons were torn, breaking his arm and dislocating his shoulder. Dean yelled out his brother’s name and pulled against his binds, only continuing to further bruise his neck. “You are just too cute. Too shy to tell your brother how you feel; but don’t worry, Sam-Sam. I’ll do it for you.” Sam shouted out again when his arm was pulled, stretching the loose tendons. Against his will, his eyes watered. “You see, Dean,” he started, pulling Sam closer to him and pressing his face to the side of Sam’s head, “little Sammy, here, wants his big brother. But”—he took a deep inhale of Sam’s scent—“Dean doesn’t get you, Sam – that’s all me.” With the knife, he dragged it from Sam’s neck, down his chest, splitting his shirt and creating a thin, bloody line. Sam’s body tensed when the blade entered the band of his jeans.

Body shaking, and fists clenched so tightly his nails were digging into his palms, Dean clenched his jaw and yelled at him. “Hey!”

Belial looked at Dean, a grin plastered to his face. “What’s wrong, Dean? Getting turned on?”

“You’re one sick freak.” Belial only laughed, which infuriated Dean further. “You touch him and I swear it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“But, Dean…,” he cut off the button, sliding the knife further down, “empty threats will get you nowhere.”

Sam stood deathly still, his breath shallow as his heart beat loudly in his chest. His eyes tracked up to Dean, whose face was overcome with rage, staring down the demon – green eyes glaring. Sensing eyes on him, Dean’s quickly darted to meet his brothers; his heart dropped to his stomach and he focused back on Belial.

“I’ll kill you,” he said in a low voice, his breath skipping when his eyes traced down to the weapon’s tip faced towards his brother’s groin. “I swear I’ll fucking kill you.”

Belial scoffed and pulled the knife out and away, pointing it at Dean. “You’re just upset because you want to be doing this to him. Don’t worry, Dean.” In one swift move, Belial pulled the knife up and buried it into Sam’s heart.

“N—!!” Dean’s voice caught in his throat as the scene vanished and Belial stood alone, watching him, amused at the reaction his garnered. Allowing the initial shock to fade, Dean growled and snapped his head to Belial. “Damn, I’m going to slaughter you if you keep doing that!”

Belial grinned and stuck his tongue out, much like a child would do when teasing a classmate. “Touching a little close to home, Dean?”

“You know nothing about me,” he shot back.

There was a pause and Dean slowly began to relax his features, not wanting to let the demon get to him again. His face became impassive as Belial seemed to be in thought. Finally seeming to come upon what he wanted to say, Belial mimicked Dean’s expression – uncaring and impassive, as though mocking him.

“I know everything about you.” Dean looked continued to look unfazed, his mouth crooked and eyebrows raised. “For instance: I know you love your brother.”

Dean released a snort. “Of course I love my brother.” He laughed and shook his head. “Look, if that’s the best you got, then—”

“No,” Belial cut him off, expression dark at the reaction Dean gave. “I mean I know that you _love_ your brother.” Dean stopped, jaw tense. “That’s pretty gross, if you ask me. He is your brother, after all. I’ve seen what’s in your head, Dean: The way you look at him.” He smiled.

“You don’t know a damn thing,” Dean snapped, right hand clenched tightly at his side.

Belial only smirked, sadistic amusement twisted onto his features. “Oh?” Dean sneered. “I mean, Dean, what would Sammy think if he knew?”

Dean inhaled through his nose, jaw clenched and eyes glaring. “You better shut your mouth.” His heart pounded against his chest, his veins throbbing. He could feel his chin shaking as he tried to refrain from lashing out.

Watching him, Belial’s smirk grew to a grin, nearly stretching from ear-to-ear. “Or what? You know, maybe I’ll tell Sammy what his brother really wants to do to him. Oh, I bet he’ll love that.”

“Fuck you, you evil son of a bitch.”

Belial only waved his hand, as though he were dismissing the idea. “Not my style; but I bet you would like to fuck little Sammy, wouldn’t you? Hear him cry under you as you fuck him senseless.” Dean’s entire body quivered with rage, his breathing quick. Belial ran his tongue over his lower lip before biting it. “Oh, this is too good.” He laughed. “You’re a sick little puppy, Dean,” he said, tracing his eyes up and down Dean’s body. “I mean…what kind of person wants to screw his blood relative? His _brother_ – of all people! I don’t understand how Sam doesn’t see right through you.” Dean could feel his blood boiling, his face and neck turning a deep blood red. “You sleep around, acting like some promiscuous high school girl; but that’s just a front to try and avoid the truth: That you want Sam… _really_ want Sam.” He snapped his fingers, coming into thought. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Dean – because I like you so much, I’ll do you a favour.” Dean felt a heavy weight in his chest, both fists clenched, wishing he was close enough to beat the ever-living-hell out of the demon before him. “I’ll go ahead and break Sammy for you…so you’re not tempted to do it yourself.”

He flashed a grin.

Not being able to restrain himself any longer, Dean jerked against his binds, bruising and cutting into his neck, nearly falling forward when he almost tripped himself on the binds around his ankles. “You fucking bastard! I swear I’ll kill you if you touch him! You’ll look at Hell like a heaven when I’m done!”

Belial clicked his tongue and dragged his lower lip down. “No, you see”—he stepped as close as he could with Dean being just out of reach—“you can’t really do anything in your position. I hold all the cards here, Dean, not you.”

He smirked, eyes dark. Without saying another word, he turned to leave the room, leaving a thrashing Dean behind.


	4. Nightmarish Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Belial, the Lord of Lies, is the-"  
> Hey! I see you over there, Deckard Cain! Get out of here! (swats with broom) Go on! Get!

**4**

**Nightmarish Waltz**

_Ting….ting…ting._

Sam took a deep inhale, shutting his eyes and pressing against the pipe. His wounds throbbed and the blood rushing to his head was not helping matters any.

_Ting…ting…ting._

He rolled his neck, letting his head drop to the side where he watched water drip onto a pipe running along the floor. He began counting how many tings, losing track when the count reached over one hundred more than four times. Following to where the water was dropping from, he saw a rusting pipe; a crack running through it was allowing the water to fall through. Sam cocked his head to the side when he caught a glimpse of a rat skittering its way across the pipe. It stopped and chewed at its side, but when Sam moved, it perked up straight and stared at him. Its nose twitched.

There was a loud slam.

In an instant, the rat was gone and Sam was left alone again.

The pipe continued to drip and Sam shut his eyes again, leaning back against the pipe and shifting, trying to find at least a somewhat comfortable position. There was a loud, high-pitched buzzing and he clamped his eyes, shaking his head. His jaw clenched as the noise became louder and louder: Blood pounded against his skull and his heart beat hastily against his chest. Pressure continued to build in his ears and he released a loud grunt, shaking his head and trying to get the noise to fade. Echoes bounced around in his mind like voices in a hollow room, but none were any he could distinguish.

The pressure intensified as the echoes sounded like screams in his head. He bashed his head against the pipe. When it still failed to fade, he did it again, hitting his head harder and harder each time. He could feel blood trickling from the back of his head down the back of his neck.

_Call for me_.

Behind his lids, and in the blackness of his mind, red and white flashed like strobe lights. His entire body tensed as he pressed as hard as he could against the pipe. The flashes continued and, through the echoes and the noise, he heard the voice again. _Sam Winchester…._ Through the red, white and black, a shadowed face broke through, grinning, eyes glowing red. _You can’t hide._

His eyes shot open.

Everything was suddenly gone – the pain, the pressure, the noise.

He swallowed hard, his heart still racing in his chest as he looked around the room. He saw Belial leaning against the wall next to the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he watched him intently.

“Silence getting to you?”

“Yeah,” Sam sneered with a sarcastic inflection. “It’s the silence.”

Belial chuckled. “No reason to get snippy, Sam. You chose to be in this position – you could have been free by now, but no. That was your choice, not mine.” Sam clenched his jaw and looked away. “Ignoring doesn’t make it go away.” He walked over and, again, Sam felt eyes staring into his face. A hand tracing by his face flicked his hair out from in front of his face. “Look at me.” When Sam only scoffed a sarcastic response, Belial’s demeanor changed and he harshly gripped Sam’s face, digging his nails into his cheeks as he forced him to make eye contact. “When I tell you to do something, I’m not giving you an option,” he snarled. “Go ahead and glower at me,” he snapped at the look Sam gave him. “But that doesn’t get to change the fact that I’m in a better position to do to you what you want your brother to do to you.” Sam’s response was caught in his throat when Belial clashed their mouths together. He clenched his eyes shut, jerking against the binds; the moment Belial’s tongue passed into his mouth, Sam took advantage of the opportunity.

“Shit!”

Belial immediately pulled back, blood from his now-bit tongue on his lip. He laughed lightly as he shook his head. He brought up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Seeing the blood, a strange smile placed his usual smirk as he looked at Sam’s glare. He laughed again before his smile dropped and he smacked Sam across the face hard enough to have the other’s head snap to the side. He stood and brought back his foot, slamming it into Sam’s chest and stomach, having Sam release a strained shout with each blow. Kneeling back down, he took his index and middle fingers, jamming it into the clotted wound on Sam’s right shoulder. Sam tensed his entire body and the veins in his neck protruded outwards as he tried to refrain from yelling. His restraint failed when Belial twisted his fingers into the wound and spread them, forcing the wound to open wider than it was before and blood to begin spilling back out.

The fingers were jerked out and Sam released an exhaled gasp.

“I told you not to screw with me, Sammy,” Belial taunted as he took his blood-coated fingers and wiped them across Sam’s face from his cheek to his mouth, smearing his own blood on his face. Taking it one step further, he gagged when Belial shoved his fingers into Sam’s mouth, pushing down on his tongue, wiping the excess blood against it. His mouth filled with the taste of his own metallic blood, but he sneered, nonetheless.

The moment Belial extracted his fingers he grabbed Sam’s face again, repeating his earlier actions. This time, Sam did not fight, but his stomach knotted uncomfortably when he was tasting saliva, other than his own, mixed with the iron-tasting-blood. “See?” he asked cockily as he pulled back. “Things go a lot smoother when you don’t fight me.”

“When I get out of here, first thing I’m going to do is drive a knife into your heart. And we’ll see who will be laughing at the end.”

Belial laughed – he just laughed. “Ah, Sam. Anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re acting all vengeful?”

“Yes, actually,” Sam spoke, trying to calm his racing heart and ignore the pain from his probably-bruised ribs and bleeding wounds. “Every demon I’ve ever sent back to Hell. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure you’re one of them, so you’ll get to experience it firsthand.”

Belial only nodded, oddly amused. “Yeah, I’m sure you will,” he said as he pushed off of the floor, standing over Sam’s figure. “That’s what I like about you, Sammy. You’re so”—he shook, as though trying to find the right words—“funny, for lack of better terms. You’re feisty; which is a lot more than I can say about some of my other…clients.” His head fell facing the door and Sam tensed, his eyebrows furrowing. “But you don’t worry about him – them,” he switched, seeming to correct himself.

“What have you done with Dean?” Sam asked, face and voice flooded with fear and concern.

Belial clicked his tongue. “Now, now. Why would think I’ve done something to your brother? After all, we had a deal, didn’t we?” He grinned down at Sam, whose look stayed the same. “You do what I want and your brother stays safe. You keep fucking around with me and I’ll make sure Dean’s demise is as tedious and painful as I can.” Sam’s gaze dropped, his eyebrows still creasing his forehead as his eyes searched around in front of him. “You be a good boy while I check on him, okay, Sammy?” He winked at Sam’s reaction as he left the room.

* * *

Dean’s nails dug into his palms, cutting into him and having a small amount of blood trickle down his clenched fingers. Another shout from somewhere else in the basement had his heart in his throat as he recognized Sam’s voice. He had tried fighting against the chains again, but, still, he gained no leeway. The only thing he managed to do was cut the cuffs into his ankles and further bruise his neck. Though he was unable to see himself, he knew there had to have been a nasty black bruise that ran like the rings of Saturn around his neck. He found himself cursing as Sam for making a promise in the first place; but, then, he could not say he would not have done the same thing.

Hell.

He had done the same thing. Multiple times, in fact.

However, what made it different (at least to him) was that he was the older brother and he was supposed to take care of his younger brother – that was an instinct that never seemed to wane, no matter how much he wished it would.

Faint footsteps grew louder and he found himself growing livid as the demon crossed the threshold. Seeing the death glare he was being given, Belial shrugged. “Sorry about all that noise, back there. Sam was being a little stubborn.”

“What did you do?” Dean asked, jaw clenched. “If you touched him, so help me God, I swear I’ll—”

“Ugh,” Belial groaned rolling his neck. “Are we gonna do this again? These empty threats are getting really old really fast. I am not amused.” Something glistened in Belial’s hands, reflecting off the dim lighting that was in the room; that was when Dean noticed a small, metal bowl that demon held. He eyed it suspiciously. Sensing the question, Belial held up the dish. “This?” He waved it. “You don’t worry about this, yet. You’ll realize soon enough.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Belial raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why bother keeping us here? Why not just kill us and get it over with?”

Belial looked at him sympathetically. He walked up to Dean, as close as he could to be just out of the other’s reach. “Awe, Dean. Why would I want to kill you when we’re having so much fun? I mean”—he turned away, his back to Dean, and the Winchester could see his hands moving, as though he was searching from something on his person—“it’s not like I’m only keeping you all here so you can feel the same way I’ve felt since you slaughtered her. That would just be silly!”

“You’re sick,” Dean spat.

“Maybe so,” Belial said, turning back to face Dean. In his left hand, he still held the bowel. In the other was a knife – still the same knife he had taken from Dean in the beginning. “But at least I loved the right person; unlike you, you incestuous freak.” Dean gritted his teeth, biting back the comment he so wanted to say. His eyes quickly darted from the weapon to the face of the wielder. “You can deny it all you want; it just makes things more interesting for me. I get to watch you all squirm as you desperately try to protect one-another. I mean,” he stepped closer, lifting up the knife and touching the tip right under Dean’s jaw, “don’t get me wrong – he’s a fine specimen. And I’m certain you’re not the only one that’s wanted to drive into him—”

“Fu—”

“—but what separates you and me is that he’s not my brother – my blood.”

Dean could feel his face growing red as his heart quickened its pace. “You’re still prattling on about that? You can think whatever the hell you want, but it’s not going to matter when I drive this knife into your heart.”

Belial looked slightly disgusted and sympathetic as he brought the knife down. “Now, that’s just creepy. I swear, it doesn’t matter if it’s you or Sam, I always feel like I’m talking to the same person.” He shrugged after running his tongue across his bottom lip. “I have an idea, since you want to be _so close_ to your brother, I’ll help you out. Give me your arm.” There was a feint high-pitched buzzing and Dean has started to lift his arm; but, when he came to the realization what he was doing, he pulled his arm back and grabbing it with his right hand, keeping himself from lifting it up. Belial rolled his eyes, seeming annoyed. “Look,” he sound aggravated. “I can’t hurt you, but nowhere in the rules does it say you can’t hurt yourself.” Dean stared at him, eyes burrowing into him. “I’m really not in the mood for this, right now. So, come on. Dean, I want you to take this knife”—he held out the weapon, the handle facing Dean—“and cut a deep slice down the inside of your forearm.”

Dean’s face scrunched up as the high-pitched noise returned, this time louder. He brought his hands to his ears, trying to block it out, but it was as though it was inside his head, causing his blood to pound against his skull. His brain felt as though it was going to explode. He released a yell before coming to. Bringing his hands down, he stared blankly from Belial to the blade. Eyes distant, Dean stared at the dagger. Slowly, he reached out his hand and grabbed the handle, it settling into his palm when Belial let go and took his arm back. Dean traced his eyes up and down the blade before holding out his arm and pressing the tip near the bend of his elbow, drawing blood. He created a long line, stopping as he reached his wrist: Blood poured from his arm, running down the sides and pooling on the floor.

Seeming satisfied, Belial nodded. “Now hold your arm over this,” he said, holding out the small, metal bowl. Staring blankly at the bowl that was being held out to him, Dean held out his arm, allowing his blood to drip into the bowl, coating the bottom and filling it with about an inch of liquid. Belial pulled the bowl away and Dean put his arm down, still looking at the bowl with a hollow stare. Belial swished the blood around in the bowl and turned to leave, but not before looking back over his shoulder. “Clean yourself up, would you? Don’t want you bleeding to death.”

Dean stared down at his bloody arm as Belial left the room. He blinked, clamping his eyes shut and shaking his head – the blood in his head pounded against his skull as he came to and held up his arm in front of his face. Face in shocked confusion, he wiped the blood on his shirt and stared after the demon. A sinking feeling set into the pit of his stomach and he suddenly had the urge to call out for Sam.

* * *

Sam was pulled out of his zombielike state by a somewhat-harsh kick to his ribs. He jerked up, frantic and wondering what was going on. Between the stab wounds on his abdomen, the hole in his shoulder and his bruised ribs, his entire upper body throbbed in pain. He pulled his head up just as Belial crouched back down in front of him. Belial stroked Sam’s cheek gently with his hand, ignoring the scowl on Sam’s face.

“Don’t look at me that way, Sam. I even brought you something to help take the edge off.” He pushed a metal bowl next to Sam; it scratched across the concrete floor. Sam glanced down at it, eyebrows knitted together. “Don’t worry. It’s not demon blood – I’m not _that_ mean.”

“The hell—”

“Drink it.” Sam stared back, dumbfounded. “Did I stutter?” Belial asked in a mocking voice. He retracted his hand and stood up.

Sam went from Belial to the bowl. The light from above reflected darkly in the deep red liquid. Moving back up to Belial, his eyes scanned his captor; failing to find what he was looking for, he shook his head. “Whose blood is that?” Belial only smirked, eyes dark. A lump formed in Sam’s throat and he pulled against his binds. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

Belial lifted his foot and set it on the wound on Sam’s shoulder, pushing it and making Sam cringe. “You’re right. But I can’t stop Dean from hurting himself.” He flashed teeth and Sam released a shout. “Watch how you phrase things, Sammy.” He went back to a crouch, lifting up the bowl and holding it in front of Sam’s face. “Now, drink it.” His voice was firm. “You want to be close to your brother, don’t you?”

Sam’s upper lip curled and he shook his head, staring into the bowl of blood that was already beginning to curl from being exposed to the air. He shook his head roughly, brown hair moving. “No.”

Belial’s mouth formed a thin line. “You don’t have a choice, Sam; you fall back on _your_ promise, and I take out Dean. Now, _do it_.”

Sam clamped his eyes shut as the bowl was shoved against his lips. It took most of his will power just to part his lips; the moment he was given access, Belial tilted the bowl, having some of the blood fall into Sam’s mouth. Sam nearly gagged as the blood – Dean’s blood – slid down his throat. He coughed some up when more was being forced into his mouth. “Uh-uh. You spill any of it, and I’ll just get more.” He felt the weight in his chest drop as nausea ran over him when he was forced to take another swig. He swallowed a throat full of vomit with the next drink, trying all he could not to regurgitate the liquid. “It’s not sweet like your blood, is it, Sammy?” Belial hummed as he continued to tilt the bowl – some of the blood trickled out of Sam’s mouth, dribbling down his chin and falling down his neck. He tried to think of it as something else – _anything_ else. He could feel the liquid run down his throat and dump into his stomach, which lurched with each swallow.

Finally, the bowl was tilted as much as it could go for Sam to get the last bit; and, when the bowl was pulled away, Sam collapsed, his chest heaving. It took him a minute to find out what was wrong with him – with the heaving breaths and burning face, his entire body shaking. He opened his eyes to slits to see Belial running his finger along the inside of the bowl before bringing his hand up and licking his finger. He shrugged.

“This was fun.” He pulled in close to Sam, allowing his lips to lightly brush Sam’s cheek. “But this is only the beginning, pretty boy.” He pulled back and stood up, letting the bowl drop from his hand and clang onto the concrete. “By the time I’m done with you, Sam, you’re going to wish you were in Hell.” Belial turned on his heel, leaving Sam alone in the room.

After listening to the footsteps fade, Sam felt his stomach contract, and he pulled his head to the side as his insides finally succeeded in expelling the foreign substance. Seeing the curdled blood mixed with bile, he retched again, spitting out what was left in his mouth. That was when he realized why his body was shaking – why his face was hot and why his eyes stung: He was crying. He was not even sure when he started; what he wondered even more was why he could not stop. He let his body collapse against the pipe, chest shaking violently as he inhale a muffled and broken cry.

“Dean—!”


	5. White Noiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Belial, Lord of Lies, is the most elusive of the seven Evils and is a master of--"  
> DAMN IT, DECKARD CAIN! WHAT DID I JUST SAY??!

**5**

**White Noiz**

“C’mon, Sammy. Wake up.”

Sam’s eyes shuddered under his lids as the voice cut through the darkness like a knife through flesh. It echoed inside his head, though he could not place where or whom it was coming from. It continued to echo until the sound dissipated, leaving him alone. He felt himself growing anxious.

“Are you going to sleep all day?” the voice returned.

Sam groaned, shifting uncomfortably. _Dean?_ There was no response as he pinpointed the familiarity of the speaker. Again, the voice faded and Sam sunk back down into the black. The metallic taste of blood reentered his mouth; he released another groan as he turned.

“Sam!!”

His eyes shot open, the voice no longer in his head.

He found himself staring up at a ceiling, but not the cold, cement ceiling with rusting pipes; the ceiling above him was off-white and light was glaring into his face. The light disappeared as something was thrown over his head and he sat up, pulling it off and staring at it – at his shirt. Staring at it in awe, he turned his head to see Dean just pulling down a navy blue shirt over his abdomen. Noticing that Sam was awake, Dean adjusted the shirt.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said as he grabbed his wallet off of the motel table and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans. Sam only continued to stare at him, dumbfounded, staring at him as though he were dream. “Sam, you look like your bike was just run over…and it’s creeping me out.” He raised his eyebrows as he walked passed Sam’s bed to go into the bathroom. Sam heard the sink turn on before Dean’s voice came flooding out. “So, I figured we’d go check out that next town over – Mullens, I think.” Sam continued to look around the room; light was flooding in through the window and the parking lot could be seen covered in snow. The laptop was plugged into its charger and sitting on the table that was pushed against the window, and Dean’s duffel bag was unzipped on the bed next to his. “It may be nothing, but, from the information I managed to get last night, it looks like Barbas – or whatever the hell the thing wants to be called – was moving that direction.”

Sam tossed the covers off of him and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, standing up with his shirt in his hand as he walked around the beds to the laptop. He opened it and typed in the password; the same thing he had been researching last night was still on the screen. Dean came out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth with a washcloth to rid any excess mouthwash.

“Hey”—Sam turned to look at him—“you all right?” he asked, obviously concerned.

Sam’s eyes searched in front of him, taking in the atmosphere and scents. He met Dean’s eyes, his eyebrows slightly up. “I’m…not really sure.” Dean furrowed his brows and Sam shook his head. “I mean…,” he looked around the room again before making eye contact. “What happened last night?”

Dean snorted at the question. “You got wasted and—”

“Dean, I’m being serious.”

Seeing the look on his brother’s face, Dean shrugged. “Nothing, really. I got back and you were passed out on the bed. Why? Bad dream?”

Sam cocked his head, drawing out his voice. “Sort of.”

“What? Like…one of your wacked out premonitions?” Sam frowned as the wording, making Dean grin. “What?”

“No.” The response was blunt. “It was…real. Like…really real.” Out of reflex, he grabbed his shoulder.

Dean shook his head and stepped forward, patting Sam on the shoulder. “Well, whatever it was, it was obviously just a dream. Don’t let it get to you.” He passed Sam, took his coat off of the table and walked to the door. “I’m hungry – so they better have something decent at this place.” He opened the door and stepped out, shutting it behind him, but not before Sam overheard, “Not even so much as a diner in this damn village.”

Sam stared after him.

It seemed so real for it to have only been a dream; but maybe that was what it was: A premonition. If that were the case, then there was a way to stop the entire thing; however, he had to be sure. He put the yellow-black plaid shirt on, buttoning it as he walked to the restroom to follow suit. He cleaned himself up before grabbing his jacket and following after Dean to the motel’s lobby.

The cold outside hit his face like thousands of blunt-tipped needles and he shoved his hands into his pockets, trekking through the snow, almost in sync with the footprints Dean had left behind. His spotted Dean sitting at a table in the corner of the room when he entered the lobby, shaking snow from his shoes and the cuffs of his pants – they had already iced over. The same concierge that was there when they checked in only glanced up from reading a book, then, without so much as a nod, went back to reading. Sam shook his head and maneuvered through the few small tables and chairs to where Dean was – the only person in the room sans the clerk.

Dean glanced up as Sam pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. With his cheek expanded with a large bite from a bagel, Dean asked, “You shower? Or do you always smell like a foot?” Sam sneered as Dean grinned, a piece of the bagel being able to be seen. He looked over to the meager continental breakfast. “Slim pickings…and by that, I mean there’s jack over there. Choice between a bagel, rotten fruit or bran flakes…or a bran muffin…with prunes.” He turned back to face Sam. “You’re on your own.”

Sam pursed his lips together, giving a mixture between a sneer and a smile. “Mm, sounds…appetizing,” he exhaled the last word as he leaned back in the chair. “I think I’m good.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What? You going anorexic on me, Sam?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed airily. “In fact, I haven’t eaten in weeks; I just hide my small and frail frame easily.”

“See? I knew it.”

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean took another bite from his food. Sam looked around the room; the vacant room. The clerk was gone from the desk, probably gone to the back, knowing that he was not going to be expecting anyone else. The bananas on the counter were browning, nearly black, and the apples did not look to be in any better shape – their bruises could be seen even from where they were sitting. The taste of metallic blood filled his mouth and his upper lip creased at the memory; no, not memory: Dream.

“Have you ever heard of the name ‘Belial’?”

Dean snapped his attention to Sam, eyebrows furrowed.

“Who?” he asked, swallowing the piece of food.

Sam turned to face Dean, their eyes connecting. “Belial. Does that name sound familiar at all?”

He watched for a reaction. Dean stuck out his lower lip as he shook his head. “No,” he said and Sam relaxed. “Why?”

Sam shrugged. “Don’t know. Just some random thought.” He broke eye contact and looked down at the table. Perhaps it was a dream. “So, you’ve never heard the name?”

Dean shook his head again. “Nope.” He shoved the last piece in his mouth. He dusted of his hands, crumbs falling onto the table. Taking to his feet, he stretched, popping his back. He groaned as he brought his arms down, shifting his coat. “Well, if you’re not going to eat anything, Barbie, then how about we grab what we need and start walking?”

Sam frowned at the name, but nodded and stood, nonetheless. Back out into the cold, they headed towards their room. When they reached the door, Dean took out his key and inserted it into the lock. When he tried to turn it, however, there was the sound of metal breaking and he pulled his hand up, staring at the now-broken key.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he groaned. Sam’s expression dropped and he laughed when he saw it. “Shut up,” Dean said, flicking his head to Sam as his brother kept laughing. He cursed and pulled his jacket up, contemplating on what to do. Realizing what he intended to do, Sam got his attention.

“Let’s just go let the guy know.” Dean looked at him, obviously disappointed that Sam was not going to let him kick the door in.

“Fine.” His annoyance was apparent, and Sam could not help but find himself inwardly chuckling at Dean’s attitude.

When they reentered the lobby, the clerk was still gone. Sam shrugged when Dean looked at him, so, to see if he could get the clerk’s attention, Dean leaned over the counter, which received a frown from Sam.

“Excuse me!” Dean called, arching his neck to peer into the back room. Sam hit him on the shoulder, getting his attention, but Dean just looked back at him, his expression saying, “What?” When there was no response (or seen movement) from the back room, Dean looked back, his mouth slightly agape. “Hey!”

Sam groaned and rolled his eyes. “Dean…”

Dean pulled back before setting his hands on the counter and pulling himself up and jumping over the top of the counter. He straightened up and fixed his shirt, which had come up from the jump, and giving a toothless grin to Sam, who was staring at him in disbelief. Ignoring the expression and pretests, Dean disappeared through the door to the private room.

“…the hell…?”

Sam’s eyebrows raised and he quickly glancing around the lobby, half-expecting to see the clerk come in from outside. He turned back when Dean came back, left hand on the band of his jeans and right hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Call it intuition, but I don’t think he’s coming back.” Sam looked at him curiously and Dean brought his hand down, motioning with his head to the room. He walked to the side and unlocked the top portion of the countertop to allow Sam through without having to jump over the way he did. They walked to the back, taking one last quick glance to make sure they were alone.

“…the hell...?” Sam said, mimicking his brother’s early speech.

The entire back room was bare, except for a metal desk in the center of the room. There were no papers or paraphernalia strewn across it, no images on the walls; only a black phone that sat alone on the corner of the desk. Sam and Dean exchanged looks and Dean walked around to the front of the desk, opening the drawers to see if anything was contained in them. Just like the rest of the room, the drawers were bare. Dean knitted his eyebrows together.

There was a loud crash from the lobby.

Instantly, Dean drew his pistol and abandoned his post in front of the desk, walking to the door that led out of the room and back to the lobby. He gave a silent acknowledgement to Sam to wait, knowing that Sam hand nothing on his person. His shoulder began to throb as Dean left the room, leaving Sam to stand awkwardly alone in the near-empty room. He grabbed at his shoulder, waiting to hear something – anything.

He jumped when the black phone on the desk began ringing and he snapped his head to stare at him. Glancing over his shoulder, he still heard nothing from the lobby. Inching towards the phone, he was unable to understand why his stomach was in his throat and his heart was pounding nervously in his chest. Slowly reaching out his hand, he picked the phone up and brought the receiver to his ear. Static blared through the other end and he kept his eyes staring at the entrance, still waiting some signal from Dean. Noting that nothing but static was coming through, Sam began to pull the phone away; that was until a static-filled voice began flooding the other end. He held the phone back up, straining to make out what was being said.

“Zzzzzccchh....zzzzzcccc…D…zzzzcccchhh…ean…zzzcchh…zzzzzzzccccccchhhh…zzzzccchh…Dean…zzzcchhh…zzzzzccccchhhhhh….”

He jerked the phone, dropping the receiver. It hit the floor with a bang and he stepped back, heard pounding a mile-a-minute in his chest as he stared in shock and awe as his own voice began coming from the other end of the line.

“D…ean…!! Zzzzzcccchhhh…help…zzzzzzccccchhhh…zzzzcchh…please…!!”

Suddenly, a high-pitched noise filled the room, like a scream in deafening silence. His hands clamped over his ears, the noise so high it made his blood pound against his skull and feel as though his brain was beginning to split in half. He found himself unable to move and wound up dropping to his knees, his eyes shut tight as the pain increased with the noise; he was unable to shut it out. He cracked his eyes open just in time to see Dean reentering the room. His face was filled with concern as he approached Sam and dropped to his knees, seemingly immune to the noise that was filling the room. He was mouthing something to Sam, but he was unable to make out what. Dean had to aid him to his feet. He looped his arm around Sam’s back to his waist and held his chest with his other hand as he tried to support his brother out of the room and the building.

The moment they were outside, Sam broke away from Dean and collapsed against the outside wall, the noise vanishing. His arms dropped to his sides and he continued to take deep breaths, waiting for the pounding in his head to fade.

“What the hell was that, Sammy?” Dean demanded, gauging his brother’s reaction.

Sam swallowed and shook his head, his breathing becoming even as the pain began to subside. “I don’t know.” He took one last deep inhale before relaxing and opening his eyes to meet Dean’s confused and concerned ones. It took him a moment to understand why he was being stared at as though he had just escaped from the mental institution. “You didn’t hear that?” he asked in disbelief.

The visual response made him feel awkward.

“Sam,” Dean started to draw out, “the only thing I heard was you calling for me.” Sam brought his gaze down. He had never called out for Dean. “What’s going on with you?” Sam did not verbally respond, only shrugged his shoulders. “C’mon, Sam. Talk to me.”

Sam’s posture was dismissive. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Dean took a step forward, his demeanor seeming to change. “Don’t bullshit me, Sammy.” His voice was flat. “I can’t protect you if you keep lying to me.” Sam brought his attention back, staring at Dean intently.

“Dean?”

“God, you’re such a dumbass.” Sam could only stare at Dean, bewildered. That same feeling increased when Dean grabbed Sam’s jacket and shoved him against the wall. “What? You think this is funny?” he spat at a shocked and confused Sam. “You keep your damn secrets, try to get yourself killed and you never consider the crap that it puts me through?”

Sam was only able to stare back at him.

“Goddamn it, Sammy!”

He barely understood what happened, but, next thing he knew, he was in a lip-lock with his brother. His hands reached up to grab Dean’s upper-arms, ready to push him away; however, his grip seemed to falter when released the grip on Sam’s jacket and, instead, grabbed his face. Heart pounding in his chest, Sam clenched his eyes shut as his mind began fighting back-and-forth. His knees shuddered as Dean pulled away from his mouth and moved to his jaw.

“Dean” he released in a fast exhale. “What are you doing?”

He took a sharp inhale when Dean’s hands left his face and he felt the same cold hands under his shirt in jacket. His body shook as he felt Dean’s mouth maneuver up his jaw to the outer rim of his ear. “I knew it. You’re disgusting,” he whispered into Sam’s ear as his hand dropped, grabbing Sam’s groin.

Sam’s eyes flew open and he was met with Belial’s face against his, his eyes black and a sadistic smirk on his face.

* * *

Dean sat against the wall, hands blistered and arms sore from repeatedly pulling on the chain that bound his neck. He gained a little success when the pipe managed to bend, but it was only slightly and, after getting it that far, the chain had already cut into his hands and dripped blood onto the floor, absorbing with the already absorbed blood from earlier. He hung his head with his elbows sitting on his bent knees. His arm continued to throb, dried blood clotting to his arm and cracking, peeling painfully against the sensitive skin of his forearm. He glanced at his arm, staring at the long gash that ran down it; he could barely even remember doing it. He recalled Belial with a bowl, a loud high-pitched noise, and then that was it. Next thing he remembered was Belial leaving the room, the bowl in his hands, swishing liquid – which he knew to be his blood – in the bottom of the dish.

A question he truly wanted to know the answer to: Why did he take his blood and what did he intend to do with it?

It was not as though he blood was special – if anything, it was ordinary; Sam had the “special” blood. So would it not have been better for him to have Sam give him his own blood? Whatever the need was, it should have been Sam – after all, it was his younger brother’s fault as to why they were even stuck in the predicament they were in. Had he not have made that foolish – that stupid and idiotic promise, they could have already disposed of the demon and been back at the motel.

Dean’s chest tightened at his strain of thoughts and he wanted to kick himself for even thinking about it. It was not Sam’s fault – he knew that. What he knew even better was that he would have done the same thing given the chance.

So why did he have this begging feeling to place all the blame on Sam?

He sighed and hit the back of his head on the wall, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. 

Then again, had Sam not chosen to be so friendly with the other guests at the hotel—

No.

Groaning, he repeated his actions, this time with more force, sending a throbbing pain from his head to his neck and shoulders – well deserved. The silence in the room was bound to drive him nuts; that was if Belial’s constant pranks did not do that, first (if that was what they could even be called). His thoughts drifted back to hearing Sam’s shout. Without being able to actually see Sam, his mind came up with the worse possible scenarios. That in combination with what Belial had been saying—

“Shit!” he cursed, hitting his head again.

“Could you do me a favour and stop trying to kill yourself; leave that for me, okay?” Belial said, sending a wink to Dean. The lump in his throat returned, as did the pitted feeling to wrap his hands around the demon’s throat and squeeze until the life drained out. “Oh, Dean, don’t give me that look. Your brother keeps looking at me the same way and, to be frank, it’s getting a little weird.”

Dean scoffed. “Well, sorry I make you feel so uncomfortable, then. If you take these chains off, I might be able to change that.”

Belial chuckled. “Cute.” He looked up at Dean and held his hand up. “That’s cute, Dean.” Dean’s jaw clenched at the dismissive manner he was being given and he gave a toothless, sarcastic grin in response. “But we both know the only person down here that’s really uncomfortable is—“

“Don’t you dare—”

“—Sammy.” He smirked at Dean’s scornful look. “Have you even seen his face when he’s desperately wanting and _desperately_ pained?” Dean felt his face growing red, again, as rage began building inside him. Belial looked at him sympathetically. “It really is a beautiful sight. Oh, it’s going to be amazing breaking that stoic façade he hides behind and bringing out the…childish side of him.” He stepped closer to Dean, whose hands were clenched into tight fists, his gaze staring straight ahead, avoiding Belial’s taunting face. “Can’t you just hear it, now? _Dean_ ,” he started, voice perfectly mimicking Sam’s, “ _please, Dean, don’t let him touch me._ _Please…help me_.” Dean’s body shook, the muscles in his jaw protruding outwards, his mouth firm and tight. “I bet he’ll sound and feel so amazing – clenched so tight – is he tight, Dean?”

“…shut up…,” Dean muttered behind clamped teeth.

“What?” he asked, bemused. “Haven’t you ever thought about it? Wait. Why am I asking?” He laughed, an amused look staining his face. “Of course you have. _Dean, please_ ”—he returned to mimicking Sam’s voice—“ _oh, God, Dean! Please_ —”

“Shut up….”

“ _—fuck me! I want you inside me!_ ”

“I said, SHUT UP!!”

He was not sure when he did, but Dean found himself on his feet, fists clenched so tightly they were drawing blood and digging into the wounds from pulling on the chains. His blood boiled in his veins, his face was red, and his pupils filled his green eyes, making them appear black.

“God! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, becoming even more furious when Belial only stood there, eyebrow raised and arms crossed over his chest. “Are you _that_ messed up in the head?! Why are you so on about this sick thought?!”

In an instant, Belial was in front of him; face dangerously close and eyes narrowed to slits. “Because you won’t just bite the bullet and admit you want to fuck your brother!” Dean’s nostrils flared as Belial shouted into his face, fury tracing his tone. “Well, guess what, _Dean_ ,” he spat out Dean’s name. “If you’re not going to admit it, then I’ll just show little Sammy what you want to do with him! Now, either you admit it or I fuck him.”

“You’re a sick freak,” Dean growled at him.

“Go ahead, Dean: Say it!”

“How about I say for you to fuck off?”

“Oh-ho, you think you’re funny.”

Dean shrugged. “I do tend to think of myself as more a funnyman. Gets the ladies’ attention.” His usual over-confident smirk came back onto his face as he began calming himself down, not wanting to give the bastard anymore satisfaction.

Belial released a breath through his nose, shaking his head as he put his palms against the wall and next to Dean’s head. “Like it’s their attention you’re after.”

Dean exhaled and pulled his head off to the side. “I can see where you have a problem picking up girls.” Belial frowned and raised his eyebrows. “Let’s face it: For one, you are way too forward, man,” Dean laughed from the pit of his throat. “Add that with your obvious abandonment issues and your rank breath”—Dean clicked his tongue—“I understand why you do the things you do – why you’re really holding me and my brother here.” Belial’s demeanor dropped, but he still continued to watch the other, an unamused expression on his pointed face. “You just don’t want to admit the reality: We’re the best-looking people you’ll ever manage to get this close to. So, it’s okay. _I understand you_.”

There was a loud _smack_ as Dean’s head whipped to the side before his jaw was forcefully grabbed and made to look frontwards. Belial’s eyes had gone black again as he glared into Dean’s. “You know what? You’re right,” he snapped, an inhuman grin on his face. “Which is why I’m going to savour each and every moment.”


	6. Acid Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We prepare for the coming war. Garreth Rau has opene--"  
> BELIAL, GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE.  
> AIN'T GOT TIME FOR YOUR SHIT.

**6**

**Acid Horse**

Sam lifted his bound hands back up, trying to catch the tape on a section of the pipe where the latch was. Perhaps with a little more force—

He cursed when it slipped and the only thing he had managed to cut was the inside of his forearm. He jerked, aggravated. Deciding to give it another go, he lifted up his hands, trying to hook it around the small lever, grunting as he groped around for it. When he missed again, though succeeding in another scratch, he released an annoyed grunt and pushed against the pipe, exhaling as he hair fell in front of his face. He could still taste the metallic aftertaste of the blood he had been forced to drink; knowing it was Dean’s had not helped matters, and only succeeded in causing another wave of nausea to wash down on him.

He leaned back, shutting his eyes, waiting for the most recent wave to pass.

Once he shut his eyes, he could vividly see the dream; the snow under the overhang, the broken key, the empty room and—

A weight sat in his chest as he thought about it and he tried to shake it from his mind. The dream felt just as real as the reality they were stuck in, now; but when that had happened in the dream, he did not push Dean away and he was trying to come up with every logical answer he could come up with: Belial must have warped emotions, he must have paralyzed Sam’s actions so he could not break away – anything he could think of as to why he did not shove the projection off of him. Anything – any reasoning he could think of was better than the alternative.

The thoughts made his stomach churn more and he was forced to swallow a mouthful of vomit.

“What the hell is that smell?”

Sam barely opened his eyes to see Belial standing in the doorway, his face scrunched up as a foul smell hit his nose. He followed the demon’s gaze to the bloody vomit next to him, his insides knotting at the clotted mess. Belial’s upper lip curled as he nodded to it.

“What the hell is that, Sam?” Annoyance was clear in his voice, if not in his face. Face still scrunched, Sam looked away, shrugging indifferently. “Oh, you don’t know,” was the sarcastic response. “You better not leave that vile crap just turning there. Clean it up.”

Sam scoffed. “Right. Let me get right on that,” he fleered.

Belial only stood, stone-faced, emotion unwavering. “You would think you would have learned by now.” His right hand clenched into a tight fist at his side and his ears were met with a strained gasp from Sam as his heart felt an immense pressure. He struggled to get in a breath; his face reddened and the veins in his neck protruded outwards, the pain intensifying as Belial tightened his fist. “I just got finished dealing with your brother and, to be quite frank, you two are pissing me off.” Wheezes escaped Sam’s throat and he pushed himself as much as he could against the pipe, trying to take in a breath, his eyes wide. Belial walked up to him and crouched down, setting his elbows on his knees as he right hand continued to grip harder. “You two are already fucked up beyond all reason; you’re a freak and Dean’s, well…I won’t get into that. But a little bit of gratitude for sparing your sorry asses thus far would be kinda nice.”

He loosened his grip and, the moment he did, Sam gasped, sucking in breath after breath. He quickly met Belial’s eyes before jerking his stare away. Belial flicked his hand and, in the instant, the regurgitation was gone.

“You take all the fun out,” he said in a breath. He grabbed Sam’s shoulder, making sure to dig his fingers into the wound as he pulled Sam up to his feet. “Piss me off,” he muttered as he shoved Sam’s back against the pipe, reaching in his back pocket to take out the knife he had confiscated earlier. “Tell me something, Sam,” he started, pressing the edge of the knife against Sam’s throat. “How far are you willing to go to save Dean’s sorry arse?”

“Far enough.” Sam’s mouth was taut, nearly forming to a sneer.

“Awe.” He gave a sympathetic look. “How sweet. You really love me, Sammy?”

Sam clenched his jaw, eyes glazing. “Stop it,” he said in a low voice.

“But Sam….”

Sam’s eyes locked onto the face of his brother’s, his eyes dark. “Don’t.”

He clamped his eyes shut when would-be-Dean smirked, pressing his mouth against Sam’s jaw as he ran the knife down, splitting Sam’s shirt and creating a long, thin, bloody line down his chest and abdomen, stopping short of the band of his jeans. Sam kept his mouth tight when he felt foreign lips touch his own, and his eyes shut tighter, creating deep creases in his brow-line and forehead – his face scrunched. The blade cut off the brass button to his jeans.

“Look at me, Sam,” he said in a soft, caring manner, voice impersonating his brother’s. Sam’s eyes barely opened to meet the green-eyed-gaze in front of him. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Get off me.”

He laughed, blade sliding into the waistband of his boxers. “Don’t you mean ‘get me off’?” Sam’s upper lip curled. “That’s what you really want…you’re brother to get you off; so what’s the big deal, here?” He pressed his mouth to Sam’s neck, sucking and biting the skin, getting a mixture between a groan and a moan from the hunter as his mouth fell open from the sensitive nerve endings being stimulated. “This is as close as you’re ever going to get to him, Sammy,” Dean’s voice trailed out as the blade slowly traced across his lower abdomen to his hip. “So you might as well just enjoy it.”

With that, he pointed the tip and dug the knife into Sam’s left hip, forcing him to jerk and yell out; however, his yell was cut off as his brother’s image covered his lips with his own.

* * *

Dean stumbled against the wall, grabbing at his chest as he tried to take in a breath – if felt as though someone had their hand clamped around his heart and had no intentions of letting go anytime soon. His breath caught in his throat and he shut his eyes tight.

_You two are pissing me off_ , Belial’s voice echoed around him.

Dean collapsed to all fours, eyes wide as he continued to try to take a breath, his hand clawing hard at his chest, as though trying to pry off whatever had it held. In an instant, the pressure was gone and he released a long-awaited gasp, his heart racing in his chest as he tried to catch his breath. He found himself muttering “Sammy” over and over as pushed himself up and fell back against the wall, hand over his heart as his breathing evened out. He half-expected to see Belial entering the room, laughing at how pathetic he must have looked, but he stayed alone.

His recovery time was slim-to-none when a sharp pain shot through his shoulder down his arm. He bit back a shout and pulled his hand to grab his shoulder; it felt as though someone was digging their fingers into an imaginary wound. His jaw clenched and he pulled his head, gritting his teeth as the pain slowly began to fade. He sucked in a deep breath, blowing it out in one huff as he looked at where the pain had hit.

He lifted the arm to his shirt, baring his shoulder, but there was nothing there.

No bruise.

No wound.

Nothing.

Confusion flooding his face and he tried to figure out what was happening. How was Belial able to cause him pain when the deal clearly barred him from doing just that? Unless….

“Shit!” Dean cursed, slamming the back of his on the cement wall.

His blood.

“Goddamn it!”

He flinched when he felt a light sting on his chest. That same feeling ran completely down his abdomen, stopping short of his groin. A sudden flashback to one of the scenes Belial played out in front of him ran through his mind and he saw Belial holding Sam, running the blade down Sam’s abdomen, sliding the tip into the band of his brother’s jeans. He struggled to understand when a sharp pain burrowed itself into his hip and he released a shout as he fell to the side, grabbing at his side, face twisted in pain. Feeling as though it was digging and scraping itself in his hip, Dean tried to sit back up. Each movement hurt, but, again, the pain stopped and slowly began to fade.

His shut his blood-stained eyes, inhaling roughly as the feeling vanished.

_I’ll go ahead and break Sammy for you…. …you want to be so close to your brother, I’ll help you…._

Dean’s eyes flew open, his heart sinking as a knot formed in his stomach. The realization hit him like a rock salt shot to the face. He held back a yell when a sharp pain went through the inside of his right thigh and pulled down, forcing him to feel as though his leg was being torn open. His jaw clenched so tightly, he felt as though his teeth might crack under the pressure. The pain followed down to his knee and he grabbed his leg, pressing his head against his knee as he pulled it up.

“Sam!” he cried out, trying to ignore the pain. His breathing became shallow as he felt the same pain run up through the inside of his hip. He lifted his head up, eyes red as he stared at the empty doorway. “SAMMY!!”

* * *

Sam fell back against the pipe, panting as blood ran down his leg, pooling on the floor at his feet as eyes tore through his captor. His body shook and his head spun, but he refused to look away and he only watched as Dean wiped his bloody jaw. An annoyed snort made it passed his lips as he took a step back from Sam.

“You think you’re funny.” His voice was low, sounding strangely calm and even. “I can’t believe you turn your own brother away.”

Sam sneered, stumbling slightly, trying to remain standing. “You are not my brother,” he responded, mimicking the other’s tone.

“True. If I really was…you wouldn’t have turned me away, would you?” He stood straight, smirking, oddly amused.

“I guess we’ll never know.” Sam’s upper lip curled.

He could feel his legs starting to give way and it took all of his strength to remain standing. The demon stepped close to him again, only, this time, Sam kept their eyes locked; being hunched over, and he was made to stare up. For some reason, it made him feel low, as though he was giving the bastard some strange sense of satisfaction. He tried to press his back against the pipe to stand straight, but his knees refused to straighten out, and he was still left to stand shorter.

His chest fell as his brother’s face smirked down at him and reached his hand to softly stroke his cheek.

“You’re cute, Sam,” he said, voice gentle. “And I really do hate seeing you in such a position; and the sooner you just come out and admit it, the sooner we can put all of this behind us.” Sam’s chest shook and he still refused to close his eyes, even when the image did and leaned down, lightly meeting their lips. He barely pulled back, less than an inch before pressing their foreheads together and gripping the back of Sam’s hair. “Look: If you admit it, I’ll do something in your favour…that’s a promise.”

Sam searched his eyes, his own eyes shimmering as he tried to find truth behind the demon’s words; but then, he had to be telling the truth if he was willing to make such a promise.

“Tell me what the promise is, first.” His voice was unwavering.

He only smiled; not a twisted smirk on his brother’s face, but a soft, gentle smile. Either way, it was uncanny. “I’ll let you go.”

Sam’s heart dropped to his stomach. His mouth fell open and he could only stare back, his eyebrows beginning to furrow upwards, making him look much younger.

“It’s a limited offer, Sammy,” he responded to Sam’s indecisive stare. “I count to three and it’s off the table.” Sam only stared at him in disbelief, but he only shrugged. “One”—Sam’s eyes darted around, his heart racing a mile-a-minute—“two”—his breath hitched as he stared back up at the demon—“thr—”

“All right,” he said hastily, cutting him off before he finished counting. “Okay,” this time his voice trailed out in a whisper, his harsh stare becoming soft, almost remorseful. The image continued to smile before lightly meeting their lips again, sealing the deal. Sam swallowed hard, his legs continuing to shake, not being able to support him much longer. His head was spinning from the loss of blood and the feeling in his legs was fading just as quickly. “I – I”—his forehead creased as he tried to force himself to say it—“I love Dean,” he said in a quick breath.

The other shook their head. “Uh-uh. Too general. Specify, Sammy. Or the deal’s off and you and your brother will rot down here.”

Sam shut his eyes and pulled his head off to the side. His heart raced in his chest as his surroundings became blurred. His breath caught in his throat several times as he tried to say it – as he tried to admit it to himself. There was no way he could word it, no way he could twist it where Belial would not realize it. Head facing the floor, he muttered, “I – I can’t do it.”

Belial’s eyes went dark, his amused smirk vanishing from his face.

The air seem to still and the silence pierced through it like white light in blackness.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Belial pulled the knife back and drove it, once again, to the hilt into Sam’s shoulder. “Is your pride worth that much to you?!” He twisted the knife, forcing blood to spill out. “FINE! Then the deal’s off! I hope you get real comfy, Sammy, because you’re going to be here for a very long time!”


	7. Prisonic Fairytale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**7**

**Prisonic Fairytale**

“What happened?”

A fourteen-year-old Dean was in front of Sam, tearing a piece of medical tape off the roll as Sam held four square layers of gauze to a wound on his temple. A small trickle of blood rolled down the side of his face. Dean moved nine-year-old Sam’s hand out of the way and held the gauze in place as he applied to the tape to hold it while he taped over the rest.

“What do you mean?” Sam flinched when Dean pressed down on it to seal the tape to his skin.

Dean shook his head. “What do you mean ‘what do I mean?’ You completely froze back there.” Dean pulled back and grabbed the damp washcloth from the nightstand, dabbing one of the cuts on his brother’s face; but Sam knocked his hand back and took hold of it himself.

“Well, sorry I’m not you, Dean,” he responded sarcastically.

Dean frowned.

“That’s not what I meant.” Same rolled his eyes and shook his head. “But you can’t just freeze up. What would happen if you froze up and I wasn’t there to bail you out?” Sam’s looked switched to an aggravated gaze as he avoided his brother’s eyes by staring off to the side. Dean sighed and relaxed his shoulders, shaking his head. He stood up, staring down at Sam as he still sat on the bed, not moving his expression. Sam ducked his head out of the way when Dean put his hand on it before walking to the blue duffel bag that sat on the table by the door. “I’m not hounding you, Sammy,” he said as he unzipped the bag and began rummaging through it. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Why?” Sam shot back. “Because you don’t want Dad to yell at you again?”

“No,” Dean responded quickly with no hesitation. “Because you’re my brother, Sam.” He watched Sam scoff and shake his head again, turning his head to look at the bed’s headboard. Dean pulled a generic plastic bag out of the duffel bag, which had seemed to have been buried among other items. “And if we don’t have each other, then we have nothing.” As he walked back over to Sam, who was still avoiding looking at him, he took out one of the items and held it out. Sam glanced at it sideways and crooked his mouth, a disbelieving look.

“Really, Dean?”

“You want it or not?” Sam released an annoyed breath and took the chocolate bar, muttering a small ‘thanks’ as Dean released it. “Besides, chocolate will help you feel better – wraiths are pretty nasty.”

Sam brought down the washcloth and set it on the nightstand, then tore open the wrapper. He broke off a piece and passed it through his lips, keeping his head down as he chewed and swallowed it. Dean flashed his teeth in a cockeyed smile, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head.

“Helps, right?”

Sam only nodded as he broke off another piece. He looked up at Dean, who set the bag on the nightstand and sat on the opposite bed. He set his elbows on his knees, bent his head and ran his hands through his short hair.

“So, why does it?”

Dean placed his hands on the back of his neck and looked at Sam curiously.

“Why does what?”

Dean shook his head when Sam offered him a piece. “Why’s chocolate help?” He bit into the candy bar.

Dean shrugged. “No idea. Since wraiths tend to cause dread, I guess it’s because chocolate’s associated with happy thoughts.”

Sam only nodded. “Dad tell you?”

“Nope. Read it in his journal.” He smiled at the disappointed look he was given.

They sat in silence as Dean watched Sam absently, mind wandering as Sam continued to break off pieces of the candy. With the knife having no effect on the wraith, he had actually thought that, for a minute, he was about to lose his brother. He was lucky the can was just sitting there; which he was not even sure was going to work. Luck had been with them that night. Dean snapped back to reality when Sam balled up the plastic, after taking the last piece out, and put it in the plastic bag. He sat straight and stretched to pop his back.

“I gotta ask, Sam: What did you see?” he asked, returning to his former position.

Sam glanced up at him, curiosity plaguing his face.

“Huh?”

“Well, it said that people have a tendency to see horrific things; like…their fears.” Sam glanced away. “So…what did you see?”

Sam fell silent and averted his eyes, which only raised Dean’s curiosity. He asked again, but Sam only shook his head. Realizing that his brother was not going to tell him, Dean commented about how he did not want to know, anyway, and moved to lie down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Once he was horizontal, he realized how tired he really was and let his eyes close, body sinking heavily into the mattress.

“I saw you die.”

Dean opened his eyes and lifted his head up to stare at Sam, who had shifted to sit against the headboard. His knees were pulled up and he was fiddling with his nails in front of him. For a moment, he thought he misheard, and that Sam had not said anything – he only imagined it. His thoughts were proven wrong when Sam clenched his fingers.

“Like, the wraith didn’t go after me and it went after you, instead.” He finally looked over to his brother, who was now sitting upright on the bed. “And I couldn’t do anything to help.” Dean looked at him sympathetically when he saw his brother’s eyes begin to glaze over. He crawled off of the bed and stood, taking the one step to sit on the edge of Sam’s bed. “It was like, no matter what I did, it didn’t do anything. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

Dean crawled to the other side and sat next to Sam, kneeling with his body facing him.

“That’s your fear?” he asked, almost in disbelief. He sighed, seeing the heartbroken expression playing on his brother’s face. “Sammy, if something ever happens, it’s not gonna be because of you; it’s gonna be because I was dumb enough to drag you into something. I mean, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have even gotten hurt tonight; but, no. I’m the idiot that had to suggest we go looking.” He tried to give a smile to Sam when a stray drop fell from his eye. “Come here,” he said, pulling Sam into a hug. “Sammy, nothing’s gonna happen to me and I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, all right?” He felt Sam nod. “Good.”

He leaned back against the headboard, still hugging his brother and Sam returned the gesture, arms wrapping around Dean’s abdomen.

If memory served correctly, they drifted off to sleep in the same position….

* * *

“Well, I have good news, Dean. You two will be here until your skin rots off your bones – isn’t that a pleasant thought?”

Dean sat against the wall, his elbows on his knees as he had his eyes shut. He clamped them together, annoyed from being woken up. Upon coming to, he tried ignoring the demon’s tirades and, even more, the dulling pain in his body. Without even opening his eyes, his eyebrows rose.

“I thought that was the plan already?”

Why did he have to be jerked from a memory-induced dream?

In an instant, Belial was in front of him at eye level and Dean opened his green eyes to meet the cold stare of the other’s brown ones.

“Oh, don’t play me, baby boy. Plans are always subject to change.”

Dean merely blinked, his seemingly uncaring expression impassive. Belial chuckled and shook his head, looking at Dean in an upward angle. He brought up his hand patted Dean on the face, receiving a scowl and a head jerk. He gripped Dean’s face, shaking his head back-and-forth.

“You Winchesters are just so comical,” he said in a taunting voice, much the way a person would talk to their pet. Dean threw his arm up to knock Belial’s hand away as he pulled his head away. “But, I’m sorry, Dean. You’re just not as cute as your brother; and, by that, I mean you’re not as lively. I can’t seem to get that type of reaction from you. If I were you, and I’m glad that I’m not, but, if I were, I’d be considering myself lucky.”

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I feel so honored. What do you want me to do? Kiss your feet?”

“You should be honored, because, now, I’m stuck with Sam. But you, Dean, _you_ were my first choice.”

Dean only shrugged, an overconfident smirk on his face. “I do tend to be peoples first choice. Don’t get me wrong: Sam’s a great looking guy, but he just doesn’t seem to have that charm.” He met Belial’s eyes, as though he was challenging him.

“You’re awfully cocky for someone in your position,” he responded darkly. Dean’s eyebrows rose, appearing uncaring. “By the way you’re tensing your arm I think you know what I’m referring to.” Dean’s smirk fell and he glanced down at his arm and clenched fist. He bit down. “Keep up that attitude of yours and I’ll put Sam in so much pain, that you will be the one begging for death.”

Dean’s eyes fell and darted around the floor in front of him. Despite his heart pounding in his chest, he tried to keep it down and make sure is apprehension did not show through – something about giving the demon the satisfaction he just did not want to do. However, as much as he tried to resist, his green eyes began shimmering, his pupils dilated. As though Belial was not already aware of his faltering emotions….

“Feel that fatigue, Dean?”

He pulled his head up, knitting his eyebrows together.

“Hm”—Belial’s eyelids fell halfway and his mouth formed to a faint smile—“you see, that would be your brother’s physical being affecting you. It’s cool, right?” Dean clenched his jaw, the muscles in his jawbone tensed. “Blood is thicker than water, after all, eh?”

“You son of a bitch….”

“What? You don’t find it as fascinating as I do? You should,” he said in response to the glare he was being given. The enthusiasm in his voice was eerie. “You two are only the second where this little experiment has actually been successful! Look at it, pretty boy: You two have a strong bond—that’s obvious, but I’ve never had success with siblings before. Multiple reasons as to why, though. It’s either because they don’t care that much about each other, or—and this is my favourite—they don’t love each other…and I’m not talking about that Family Bond shit. The only other time this has ever worked was with”—his expression fell, his eyes flashing black—“her: my partner.” He watched Dean’s entire body tense. “I think you know what that means. So, how’s it feel feeling the person you love’s pain and not being able to stop it? It sucks, doesn’t it? And the more you smart off to me, the more Sam suffers.”

Without so much as a smirk, Belial turned away and began leaving the room. Dean could hear his footsteps walking down the hall.

“You won’t feel it much longer, Dean! He’s fading fast, anyway.”

* * *

“C’mon, Sammy. Wake up.”

Sam felt someone cut his face; his eyes only seeing black beyond his lids. His head was shifted and he rolled his head to the side.

“Sammy.”

The voice was sing-song and it echoed in the darkness.

“Sammy….”

Who was talking. The voice was childlike and sounded vaguely familiar.

“Sam!”

There was a loud crash and Sam was introduced to a familiar scene.

Sitting on the floor with body full of cuts and bruises and a demon’s scab-covered, spear-tipped fingers millimeters from his cut face, a nine-year-old Sam stared in horror at the wraith, his body paralyzed. His breath caught in his throat, the nail touching his temple.

“Stay away from him!”

A fourteen-year-old Dean came up behind the wraith, digging a silver blade doused in holy water into its back. It released an ear-shattering shriek and swung his arm back, knocking Dean back into a pile of debris in the basement of the rundown motel. He groaned as he rolled off of the half-broken couch onto the floor. While Dean was recuperating, the wraith focused its attention back on Sam. With its long, skeletal fingers, it touched the tip to Sam’s temple; his mouth fell open as his eyes went wide, slowly starting to cloud over. Its hooded face drew closer to Sam’s and he released a gasp, his eyes going completely white.

There was a flash of light and another loud shriek from the wraith, only, this time, it broke off its connection with Sam, trying to flee from the igniting fire that doused its tattered cloak. Sam took in a sharp breath just in time to see the wraith flail before vanishing. Dean stood staring at the area where it had vanished, a lighter extended outwards in his right hand while a can of aerosol sat in his left. Recovering from the adrenaline and initial shock, he dropped the items and ran over to Sam, dropping to his knees next to his brother.

“Sammy!” He reached out as Sam lurched forward, sucking in breath-after-breath. His brother’s skin was ice-cold and he was shaking. “Sam!” he called out as he grabbed Sam by the shoulders to push him up and grab his face. “Are you all right?” His voice was frantic as Sam just nodded his head roughly, still trying to catch his breath. His body continued to shake, his hair standing on end and chill bumps forming. “Can you stand?” Dean asked, still stricken with panic as Sam nodded his head, his voice caught in his throat; though, he had moved from gasping air through his mouth to inhaling deeply through his nose. Yet, as Dean stood and helped Sam to his feet, his legs refused to comprehend the action and he ended up falling against Dean, causing them both to stumble and Dean to barely keep hold of him as they went back to the floor.

“…sorry…,” Sam had to force out, his muscles still tight.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “What are you apologizing for, you idiot? Come on.” He lifted Sam’s arm and had him put it around his neck. Positioning his arms, one on Sam’s back and the other above the bend to his knees, he stood up, carrying his younger brother cradle-style. “Let’s get cleaned up and crash.” Sam pushed against Dean’s chest, groaning at the way he was being carried, but said nothing. His body still shaking from the cold the wraith left behind, he shut his eyes, silently thankful for Dean’s protection.

At the same time, he was kicking himself.

Dean was always there to cover for him.

But, it was like no matter how hard he tried, he could never seem to be there for Dean when he needed him.

Not even now….

* * *

“Sammy?”

Sam felt someone grab his face.

“You can’t sleep it away, Sam.”

He felt a harsh smack on the left side of cheek and he clamped his eyes tight. He had to struggle just to open them. When he was able to get them to open, he was introduced to his brother’s green eyes staring back at him.

“Dean?”

A light smile.

“Not quite.”

He groaned when his head was released and it fell to the side. He was left staring at his legs: Blood continued to spill out from the slice that ran down his thigh and a rather large pool of blood – his blood – was around him. His entire body felt drained and he was beginning to lose control of his muscle functions. He forced his head up to stare at Belial, who was still wearing Dean’s armour.

“No more…,” he drew out, allowing his head to fall back against the pipe.

He felt oddly comfortable with his body completely relaxing, the pain in his body starting to fade.

Belial looked down at him, curious. “No more? Oh, Sam,” he drew out as he took the same blade and slowly drove it into the other’s hip. Sam tensed, but he did not yell out; his energy was fading and he was finding the pain was fading along with it. “This is what you asked for.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Please, no more….”

Belial raised an eyebrow. He clicked his tongue as he reached out to touch Sam’s face, stroking his cheek, slowly turning the knife. “You’re not gonna give out on me, are you, Sam-Sam?” Sam released a groan from the pit of his throat as the blade was pulled out. “You know…I’m willing to make you another deal – and this really does go to show you how much I like you.” This time, he pressed the tip of the blade to Sam’s side and slowly dragged it up towards his shoulders. He licked the blood off of the knife after he took it out. “Same deal as before, but”—he returned the knife to the wound in Sam’s shoulder—“there’s another catch.”

Sam only released another groan. “Of course there is…,” his voice was weak.

Belial chuckled. “Don’t count it out, yet. I still want you verbally confessing; but there’s one other thing. If you can find Dean and make it out of here alive, not only will I let you go, I won’t ever bother you two again. But, if you fail and one of you dies, I get to keep you here and claim your souls. And! I’ll do you one ever better!” His smirk grew wide. “I won’t touch Dean and I won’t make him do anything – no forcing him to harm himself. And all you have to do is just admit it.”

Sam sat in silence for a moment, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

His time for decision-making was slowly coming to an end.

“Fine,” he said abruptly, making Belial show intrigue on his brother’s face. “I do love him, all right?” Sam said, voice waning as he struggled to stay conscious. “Is that what you want to hear?” his voice was coming out slowly, as though it was all a VHS tape playing in slow motion. Belial raised his eyebrows. “What else do you want me to say? That I want to have sex with him?” His blood pounded against his skull and his eyes drooped, head lolling. “Fine. I do.” Belial arched his neck to peer into Sam’s face, strangely curious. “And, okay, yes. He pisses me off when he screws around, because it’s not fair. Anything else you want me to add in?”

Belial pursed his lips together, nodding his head in thought.

“Just one more thing, really.” Despite his energy draining, Sam was still able to look annoyed. “And I want you to phrase it exactly like this: ‘I want you to fuck me, Dean.” Say that and you’re free to go.”

Sam just stared at him in disbelief.

“Why—”

Belial held up the knife and waved it in a dismissing manner. “Uh-uh. No questions.” He looked back to Sam, face oddly calm. “That’s all you have to do. So, come on and just say it.”

Trying his best to stay conscious, Sam rolled his head, hitting it on the pipe. He shut his eyes and swallowed hard, heart beating vigorously in his chest. “I…”—he took in a deep breath—“I want….” He paused, trying to say it as he felt Belial’s eyes on him. “I want you…to fuck me, Dean.”

His entire body dropped.

Who would have ever through saying words could be so difficult?

Belial smiled, sadistically amused. “Good boy, Sammy. Now, since I always hold through.” He moved to Sam’s side and used the same knife to cut through the tape. Sam’s arms fell to his sides and he struggled to sit straight. Belial dropped the knife and stood up. “Remember, Sammy. _Both_ of you have to make it out alive.”

The cruel, cold laugh echoed off the walls and through Sam’s mind as the demon seemed to have vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the transitions! (. __ .)  
> But to get where I needed to get, they were necessary!!


	8. Overdose Delusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy October, everyone   
> Time for some ♫Spooky Scary Skeletons♪♪

**8**

**Overdose Delusion**

A loud frustrated grunt bounced off of the walls.

Dean fell back against the wall, the cuts on his hands reopened from pulling on the chains, yet again. His entire body throbbed and, for some reason, he was starting to lose all feeling in his leg. His heart raced in his chest and he found himself panting, trying to catch his breath as though he had just finished running a marathon. When the pain returned in his hip, he jerked and twisted to the side, falling to the floor with his shoulder pressed against the ground.

“Sammy,” Dean panted, face twisted in pain as the pain in his hip throbbed. “What is he doing to you?” He set his chin on the concrete, inhaling through his nostrils and releasing it roughly from his mouth, trying to calm his heart. He opened his eyes, staring at the wall at the other side of the room and the water stains from the dripping pipes above. He cringed again when a sharp pain shocked through the left side of his abdomen, radiating up his side and to his shoulder. A groan escaped his throat as a glint of silver caught the corner of his eye.

His eyes completely opened, his lids almost glues to his brow-line.

It had to be an illusion – one of Belial’s many tricks.

He rolled to the side, gripping his shoulder as a pain shot through it. Opening his eyes back, he stared at the silver; wondering if it was close enough to grab, he ignored the sharp pains coursing through his body and tried to push himself as close to it as the chains would allow, which, unfortunately, was not very much. Lying on his stomach, he outstretched his arm, fingers lengthening as far as they could go as he tried to grab it.

“Damn it!”

He jerked back his arm, too far out of reach. Looking around for something he could use to grip it, he found himself regretting that bastard taking his jacket.

Wait.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and lifted his shirt up and over his head, finding it difficult to keep from shouting as his muscles stretched the sore, absent wounds. His breath came out in a gasp as his arms came down and his shirt came off. Once again, he lay down across the floor, this time tossing his shirt towards the object. It fell over, but the shirt merely rode over it, not being weighted enough to actually grip it. He pulled it back and began tying the end into a knot, trying to make it heavier. Making sure it was heavy enough, he tossed it again, only getting close. A curse passed through his lips and he retracted it, trying again.

On the fourth try, the knotted end was finally able to settle over the object. His eyes lit up and, trying to be careful not to lose it, he slowly began pulling it towards him. Part of the way, the shirt slid off, but it was close enough for him to grab it with his out-stretched hand.

He snatched it and sat upright, holding the metal pin in his hand, running it through his fingers, trying to confirm its authenticity; yet, if it was a false prop, he would not have been able to physically touch and feel it, right?

Dropping the shirt, he grabbed his ankle and stuck the pin in the lock. Searching around for the latches, he managed to separate the keys.

There was a _click_ and the shackle fell away.

His heart pounded, filled with adrenaline as he hastily began doing the same to the opposite lock and the one around his neck.

They all fell free.

The moment the chains were removed, all of the pain he had been experiencing through Sam vanished. He began touching his person, thinking that, perhaps, he had been marked; but his body was clean. He took to his feet, his attention focused on the shackles that he had been trapped in. Carved into the metal on the inside were writings, most of which he would have needed Sam to translate. He did recognize _adstringo_ and _ligo_ , which both meant to bind, only with different meanings of the word.

He shook his head, ignoring the rest.

He grabbed his shirt from the floor and put it back on, pulling it down over his torso as he walked to the door and poked his head out, looking for the demon responsible. When the way was clear, he left the room, keeping the metal pin clenched between his index finger and thumb, ready to stick it into anyone’s, or anything’s, neck if need be.

Keeping his ears sharp, he listened for any inclination of where Sam was being held. He ducked into another room when he heard the sound of footsteps; however, when he peered around the corner, the hallway was bare. His shoulders relaxed slightly and he shook his head.

“Dean…who let you out?”

His head snapped forward to see Belial standing at the opposite end of the room; the knife he had stolen from him was by his side, dripping with blood. His chest dropped, knowing who the blood belonged to.

“Where is he?” His voice was low, his eyes threatening.

“Now, Dean,” Belial started, pursing his lips together. “Why would I want to tell you that? You’d kill me if you saw the shape Sammy was in,” he said sincerely, an odd smile on his face.

Dean’s entire body shook with rage, his hands formed into tightly clenched fists. “What the hell did you do to him?” he growled. Instinctively, he took a step back when the other took a step forward.

Belial held up his hand, shaking it in a dismissive manner. His calm demeanor only infuriated Dean more, despite how well he was trying to hide it. “The real question: What did I _not_ do to him?” Dean’s lips were pressed tightly together. Belial brought up the blood-dripping knife and held it in front of him, running his finger up the blade, coating his finger in the liquid. “You should have seen it, Dean. It was really pretty.” A dark glint flashed in his eyes as he brought his hand to his mouth, sucking off the blood. “Do you know how good your brother feels?”

That was all it took.

Next thing Dean realized, he had Belial by his throat and collar of his shirt, eyes piercing and narrowed into slits. “You better not have laid a fucking hand on him!” he shouted, voice bouncing off of the walls.

Despite his position, Belial merely laughed. He grabbed Dean’s wrist, hand tightening around his arms as he tried prying him off. “Oh, I didn’t just lay _one_ hand on him. But don’t worry, Dean,” he said as he made a slashing motion with the knife, forcing Dean to release him and jump back to avoid getting cut. “I gave him exactly what he wanted.” Dean’s chest tightened as Belial approached him and put his hands on his shoulders. “I gave him you.”

“ _What?_ ” his voice came out in a hiss.

“You heard me. So, that way, it will be _your_ face fucking him that’s imprinted into his brain.”

“ _You son of a bitch!_ ”

In one move, Dean managed to snatch the knife away from Belial and bring it up, slicing him clean across the chest and making him move back. Seeing him back up, he threw the knife at him, which he dodged and it hit the wall with a “cling” before falling to the floor. Dean lunged at him, grabbing him around the chest and tackling him to the ground.

“You fucked up everything!” Dean cried out, punching Belial in the face once he had him pinned. “How dare you fucking touch my brother!”

Another hit.

“He’s mine!”

And again.

“Not yours!”

Another sickening crack as the other’s jaw broke.

“Do you hear me?! HE’S MINE!!”

His eyes were red with fury, water tracing down his face. Dean brought back his fist again, slamming it into the side of Belial’s face. Mouth bloody and teeth coated with red, Belial laughed as he turned his head back to stare Dean in the eyes, despite his own eyes being swollen. “Is that the best you got?” He mocked, seeming unfazed. Releasing a growl from the pit of his throat, Dean slammed the back of Belial’s head against the cement floor; but the demon kept laughing. “You know what I’m gonna do, Dean? I’m gonna take little Sammy and I’m gonna fuck him every-which-way. Over and over again as he cries out for you.”

Dean’s jaw was clenched, gritting his teeth. “Like hell you are!” Eyes darting to the left, he saw the fallen blade still sitting on the cement. He stretched his arm out and snatched it, pressing the tip to Belial’s throat, right by his jugular.

Belial flashed teeth. “Go ahead, Dean,” he taunted, eyes manic. “But it’s not gonna change what’s already been done.” He laughed again.

Pupils dilated, Dean picked up the dagger and jammed it into Belial’s stomach, twisting it violently before ripping it out. Belial tensed, the grin still on his face as his head and shoulders lowered to the floor. His breathing became ragged, but, still, his breath continued to release choked laughs.

“I finally”—he took in a sharp breath—“got you to admit it.”

His eyes became hollow and his head fell to the side. Panting, Dean continued to stare, fury still on his face. He waited for something – anything, the demon to escape his vessel – something. But, as he pulled back and wiped his face, the scene before him changed and his eyes widened, heart violently beating against his ribcage. His eyes quickly darted around in shock and awe and he let the knife fall from his hand, hitting the floor with a clank.

“N – No,” he said as his breath caught in his throat and he was staring at the bleeding and panting figure of his brother. Blood trailed out of his mouth as his body shook, his hands over the wound in his stomach.

“Sam – Sammy?” was all Dean was able to get out, his voice panic-stricken as his eyes traced down to the stab wound – the wound he had caused. He felt his eyes beginning to sting and he shook his head.

Sam shook as Dean pushed his hands out of the way to get a better look. “D-Dean—” was all he could get out before another mouthful of blood was coughed up.

“Hold on, Sammy.”

He grabbed Sam’s arm, trying to pull him to a sitting position as he supported his back with his other hand. “This isn’t real,” he muttered as he tried to help Sam to his feet. “It can’t be real.” The moment they were both standing, with Sam’s arm looped around his brother’s shoulder for support, Sam released a shout that echoed throughout the basement. “Shit!” he cried out, trying to keep his hold on him and not force them both back to the floor. Looking around, his heart raced as he continued searching for Belial. “Come out, you coward!!”

“D-Don’t look,” Sam managed to get out, his arm wrapping around to cover his stomach, trying to keep the bleeding down. “Just…go,” he forced as he took a step, making Dean move.

“Right.”

He struggled to keep Sam’s weight, but Sam was trying his best to walk himself. Dean’s eyes kept darting around for Belial, expecting him to come out from any corner at any given moment; but he did not. They were right in view of the stairs – the door at the top was still slightly ajar, just as Dean had left it.

Suddenly, Dean felt Sam’s weight drop and he ended up in a crouching position on the floor.

“Sam?”

He tried to shake him, but his brother’s head merely bobbed on his shoulders; his eyes were shut, his arms by his sides and blood continued to drop from his mouth.

“SAM?!”

He removed his arm from around his shoulders and grabbed Sam’s face. “C’mon, Sam. We’re right here – we’re almost out.” His eyes were wide, searching his brother’s face for some sort of response. “Sammy?” His hand felt to Sam’s neck as he looked for a pulse; it was weak, but notable. “Shit! Sam! C’mon, Sam! I need you to wake up!” He slapped him across the face, but, still, he was unresponsive. “Huh. Figured I try.” He had to lean Sam against him as he positioned himself between Sam’s legs and turned his back towards him, pulling his arms over his shoulders. He grabbed his upper thighs and lifted slightly off the floor, pushing Sam up more on his back as his stood, carrying him piggyback. He stumbled as he tried to regain his sense of balance. Step-by-step, he carefully moved up the stairs, trying to keep his grip on Sam and to keep from falling backwards due to the weight. A lump felt like a hard piece of lead in his throat when he felt his brother’s blood seep through his clothes.

Light nearly blinded him when he pushed the door open, introducing them to the empty kitchen. Sunlight was pouring in through the windows and cold hit him in the face like a brick. Snow managed to make its way in through the broken windows, piling up around them. Still, Dean continued to stay on guard, continually waiting for Belial to show his face as he moved for the side kitchen door with the busted lock. He had to shift Sam so he could use his hand to turn the knob and pull the door open, but it would not budge, having been frozen over during the night. He cursed again, looking for an alternate route where he could manage to get both of them out.

The only option seemed to be the busted out windows. He left the kitchen and entered the what-would-have-been living room. A one-paned window, which was broken with several jagged pieces still sticking up, was next to the front door. He shook his head in disbelief. Walking over, he, again, shifted Sam so he was about to use his forearm to knock out any of the serrated edges.

“All right, Sammy,” he said, pulling his arm back. “You first.” Facing the window sideways, he had to set Sam on the windowsill and lean to the side to push him up and out. He heard him fall with a ‘thud’ on the other side. Setting his hands on the sill, he pushed himself up, following after. As he landed, he found himself staring at a pair of shoes.

His head snapped up to see a familiar face.

* * *

“So, did you get everything you wanted?”

“Hm…more, actually.”

Belial stood leaning against the wall in the basement, his arms crossed over his chest with his foot on the wall. He watched the other speaker walk towards the shackles he, Belial, had used to hold Dean. He bent down and grabbed one of them, inspecting the writings that had been etched into the metal.

“I’ll have to admit: You’ve impressed me,” they said, tossing the shackle to the side and standing up. They turned to face the demon, who was watching him curiously. “To be honest, I didn’t think you could manage to do it.” A strange amused smile graced his face as Belial raised a brow at the gray-haired man before him. Despite that, the other looked fairly young – in their mid-thirties; or, at least, the vessel appeared in their thirties. “Not many people can prove me wrong, Belial.”

Belial shrugged with an arrogant manner. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.” The other released a breath in a chuckle, still looking down at the shackles. Belial glanced at the same before he pushed off of the wall. “All right, Barbas”—the other glanced at him over his shoulder—“I got you what you wanted. Now time for you to hold up your end of the deal.”

Barbas turned to face him, expressionless.

“Oh, yes. That’s right; bring What’s-Her-Name back or some such,” he said, waving his hand for dramatic effect. “It’s so over-rated, don’t you think?”

Belial tensed. His mouth tightened and he stood straight, as though challenging him. “You—”

“Don’t be mad,” Barbas said, approaching Belial, who took a step back. “I’ll be happy to send you to her.”

He smiled softly, his mouth the only thing showing any emotion on his face – his seemingly blank. Belial knitted his eyebrows together, taking another step back. “I did everything you asked,” Belial said forcefully as he backed against the wall, eyes narrowed, threatening and fearful. “You promised that if I brought you the Winchesters—”

“Oh,” Barbas started with a sympathetic nod and look. “And you’ve been very useful. You see, those two are very protective of their minds…and you managed to break that barrier for me.” He nodded, strangely sincere. “So, for that, I thank you.” His eyes darkened as they landed to meet Belial’s fear-ridden gaze. “But I don’t need you, anymore.”

Belial shook his head as he traced along the wall, trying to inconspicuously move to the doorway. “Bastard…you promised….”

Barbas merely shook his head, a smug look on his face. “Promises may work with pathetic lesser demons like you, but they hold no ground with me.”

Seeing his stare, Belial shook his head again, turning and making a run for the door. Barbas only brought up his hand and flicked his wrist, paralyzing Belial where he stood in mid-run; he was not even able to escape his vessel. Barbas walked in front of him, his expression calm as he stared at the other demon’s terrified features. He cocked his head to the side. Giving an odd smile, he shoved his hand into Belial’s chest, watching amused as the lesser demon completely tensed, face twisted in excruciating pain. He jerked his hand up and out and only followed as Belial’s dead body thudded on the cement floor. Barbas sighed and stood straight, jerking his shoulders to fix the jacket on his shoulders as he looked through the doorway. Without so much as glancing down, he stepped over the body, a smile on his face as he took his leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right! Who wants to guess who Dean saw?!  
> (Jeopardy music plays)


	9. Clown Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'mma try and upload all of this by All Hallow's - you know.   
> A nice, dark celebration.

**9**

**Clown Parade**

… _beep…beep…beep…._

There was the sound of a steady heart monitor and air flowing through a nasal cannula. Chatter from outside of the room echoed around, the voices indistinguishable. An intravenous dripped steadily. People walked by the open door, the occasional person glancing into the room through the windowed wall. Snow could be seen falling outside through the window on the opposite side of the room. The sound of someone moving on the next bed over was a slight distraction to the person sitting in a chair next to the bed closest to the door and they sat straight, stretching.

Dean set his elbows on his knees, expression hollow as he stared at Sam’s bruised and battered unconscious form – mind drifting.

He had almost killed his brother – jammed a six-inch dagger into his stomach and felt his blood drip down his hand. How could he not have known that it had been a façade? It had been too easy; but then, another question he wanted to know the answer to was why did the demon allow them to escape at all? If he was just going to let them go, what the point of keeping them in the first place? All to get Dean to admit—

His chest panged and he bent his head, running his hands through his hair, allowing them to set on the back of his neck.

“It’s empty.”

Dean jumped and spun around to see the same face as before.

Castiel stood behind him next to the steady heart monitor, staring at the man in the bed next to Sam’s. He tilted his head curiously. Dean’s forehead creased.

“Empty?” he said, confused annoyance filling his tone. “What do you mean it’s empty?”

He followed Castiel’s movements when he walked around him to stand over the man’s bed. “I mean there was nothing there – no demons, no humans. Just empty. Whatever the demon wanted”—he scanned the man’s form—“it has it.” Eyebrows knitted together, Dean’s eyes traced in front of him. Of course Belial would have been gone. He probably vacated the area right after his final trick. “Why’s this man here?” The Winchester brother looked at him. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“Fascinating, Cas,” Dean said, obviously annoyed at the pointless information, which had Castiel turn away from the man’s bed to face him. “But something I’ll find more fascinating is why you didn’t help us—”

“I can’t track you.”

“—and how the hell did you find us?” he said, nearly in anger as he stood up just as the angel walked up to him.

Dean’s jaw was tight as he stared into Castiel’s somewhat sympathetic stare. Once again, the angel failed to recognize Personal Space.

“You asked me to find information on Agramon. When I tried to contact you, you didn’t respond. You had only given me the state you were in, not your exact location; and you know I can’t track you.” He slightly moved his head when Dean’s look stayed the same. “Your car a mile down the road was a larger hint to your location.”

The left side of Dean’s mouth lifted to an awkward sneer. “Ya think?” He pushed passed Castiel and walked across the room to the window, his hand on his hip as the other wiped his face and let the same hand rest on his other hip. The snow outside returned to falling from the sky above, coating anything and everything in white. The sun that had peeked out that morning was gone, though that was probably due to the different location. From the window, he could see what appeared to be a high school on top of a hill through the trees and teenagers walking on the campus grounds, carefree, only thing they had to be concerned with were grades and hormones.

“Where the hell were you, Cas?” Dean said in flitting anger, an inconspicuous way to hide his guilt, as he turned back to face Castiel, who was watching him, eyes gleaming.

“I told you. I couldn’t tra—”

“You couldn’t track us – I know!” He released a breath, brought his hand up and ran it through his hair, shaking his head as he glanced off to the side. He took in a deep breath, calming down to keep from snapping at the other again. He glanced quickly to Castiel before looking at Sam, who had jerked, probably from a muscle spasm. He ran his index finger over his brow line, shaking his head. “So what did you find out?”

Castiel looked as though he wanted to say something, but he appeared to change his mind and, instead, blinked a few times. “Very little. This…Belial – he doesn’t seem to have a lot of influence. He is”—he glanced sideways, recalling the information—“not perceived as a threat.”

Dean dropped his hand and stared at him – no. He gawked at him.

“Not a threat?” he asked sarcastically, drawing Castiel’s gaze. “Are you serious?” Dean looked up and off to the side, wiping his hand down his face. “Not a threat,” he repeated, a strange laugh coming out in a breath. He looked down, then glanced at Sam. “Perhaps you fail to realize the situation, Cas!” He jerked his attention solely to the angel. “You wanna tell me that a demon that can get into your head, make you…see things and do things isn’t a threat? Why don’t you explain that one to me?”

His jaw was taut as he locked eyes with the other, demanding answers.

Castiel slightly cocked his head, studying Dean’s reaction intently. “I…don’t know what to explain.”

Dean scoffed and shook his head. “Oh, well that’s just great.” He walked to the side of Sam’s bed, mouth tight as he stared at him, though not actually looking at him.

Castiel’s eyes were searching in front of him, a confused look on his face, as though he was trying to find the right words in his mind. He turned his body to face Dean; the other did not even bother to acknowledge him.

“The only thing I can think happened is that Belial was getting his source from somewhere else; another demon, perhaps – one stronger than he is.” Still, he garnered no reaction from the Winchester.

After deciding that there had been enough silence, Dean glanced back at Castiel. “So, what?” he asked, sarcasm filling his tone. “Belial was just a puppet?”

Castiel shrugged. “For lack of better terms.”

Dean’s face became stern as he locked eyes with the angel. “Then I want to find out who the hell he’s working for and who’s pulling the strings…and I want their goddamn head on a spit!”

* * *

“All right. Thanks, Bobby.”

Dean sighed and hung up the phone, holding it in his hand as he set his hand on his hip, still holding the phone.

With nothing to go on, other than Belial’s name and abilities that, apparently, were not even his, it was difficult to come up with anything. Castiel did not even fare well and Bobby was just as lost as he was.

Night hit hard at the hospital with more people flooding into the emergency room; most were in for miniscule reasons: colds, flues – the occasional car accident, but nothing majour. Just paranoid people over seasonal sicknesses. This was exactly what Dean saw when he walked back into the emergency room from the outside. Because cell phones never seemed to be unable to work in the buildings, he had to abandon his post and talk outside; which would not have been so bad had it not have been so cold.

He made his way through the full emergency room and through the doors leading down a hallway with supply and examination rooms before ending up at the elevators. He pressed the button and stepped back just as a female nurse came up next to him. He smiled and nodded at her, to which she returned the gesture. The elevator doors slid open and they both stepped in. An abandoned gurney was in the corner of the elevator and, once the button for the second floor was pressed, Dean stepped back. It appeared as though they were both going to the same floor. He released a quick breath through his nose, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Unfortunately, everything was back in the motel, which was a few towns over. At the rate things were going, he was going to have to hitch a ride with someone to drive him through the snow to the motel to get their items; what with that and the Impala still in its same snow-drifted, hidden spot.

“Don’t worry, Dean.”

Dean snapped his head to stare at the nurse, who was looking at a folder she was holding. He knitted his eyebrows together.

“What?”

She glanced up at him, lips curling into a familiar sneer. She blinked, her eyes black. “I’ll go ahead and break Sammy for you.”

Dean stumbled over the gurney, which seemed to bring him back, whereas the nurse was still looking at her folder. She looked up from it and stared curiously at Dean.

“Sir?” she asked sincerely. “Are you all right?”

Despite his heart in his throat, Dean nodded just as the elevator dinged to signal its arrival. “Yeah.” He swallowed, forcing a smile.

She gave him a concerned smile and exited the device once the doors were opened. Dean shook his head, trying to clear his head. He followed her leave and glanced down the hall to the Nurses Station, where she had gone to chatting with one of her co-workers. He exhaled and turned to opposite direction towards the room where Sam was being held; however, he could not help but glance back at the Station. He sighed and entered the room; both Sam and the other man were still passed out. The man had been awake earlier that evening, but ended up closing the curtain that separated the two beds.

He rooted himself in the same chair he had been sitting in before. Originally, it was sitting against the wall at the end of the bed, but the placement seemed to be an inconvenience and it was there to be used. It was not the most comfortable thing to sit in, but it beat sitting on the floor. He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees, watching Sam’s chest rise and fall.

He was lucky – that was what they had said when they wound up in the emergency room that morning.

Lucky they got there in time.

Lucky they were able to stop the bleeding.

Lucky that Sam would make a full recovery.

Yeah. They were lucky, all right.

It still did not make any sense. Every demon knew that the Winchesters were the last hunters to piss off, so why did Belial let them live? He had to have known that, the second they recovered, they would go after him, so why take the chance?

Dean set his hands on the back of his head as he faced the floor.

Nothing made sense.

* * *

Pants fill a dingy motel room and moans bounced off of the walls, most likely disrupting whoever was in the next room over.

Skin connected with skin and sweat gleamed off of bare bodies in dim lighting.

Fingers entwined in white bed sheets as nails dug into skin with faster and faster paces.

Dean released a pitted groan as he thrust in again, sweat dripping down the contours of his face and chest. His palms set on the pillow of either side of the other person’s head as his hips moved faster, slicking in and out and receiving grunted moans as a response that he was hitting the right spot again and again. Hands managed to find their way to his back and he arced when bit fingernails dug in, clamping tightly onto him.

Keeping his pace up, his eyes traced the eroticized face of his brother; his head was tossed back, hair awry and body pressing into the mattress.

“Fuck me, Dean!” Sam panted, eyes clamped tightly shut as his grip tightened on the other. “I want you to fuck me!”

* * *

Dean’s body jerked awake, his head pulling up as the spasm hit. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and it took a moment for the adrenaline rush of the dream to vacate his body. The hospital room was nearly pitch-black, only the machines emitting a soft glow, hardly enough to make it able to see. The curtains to the windows showing out into the hallway had been shut; the door remained the only view into the hall. The curtains for the outside window, however, were open, showing white snow falling against the contrasting background.

One of the nurses must have turned off the lights when they came to check on the room, he theorized.

Dean sat up straight, exhaling as he stretched from his slumped position in the chair. His back ached from the way he had been sleeping. A throbbing between his legs made him glance down before he groaned and pressed on his groin, shifting uncomfortably. He shook his head, trying to become a bit more coherent, and glanced to Sam.

His brother was still incapacitated.

A flashback to the dream ran across his mind and he was seeing Sam underneath him, panting….

His groin throbbed at the thought and he looked away, trying to think of something else – _anything_ else.

It had to be the work of that demon; it was the only logical conclusion.

He stood up, managing to keep his balance, despite still being groggy and his current state. He adjusted himself and, after a quick glance to Sam, darted out of the room, making sure the door actually shut quietly behind him. He exhaled as he leaned against the door, shutting his eyes and allowing his head to hit the glass.

He opened his eyes and shook his head, turning down the hallway to move towards the public restrooms on the floor. When he passed the Nurses Station, only two were sitting at it – the same woman from earlier and a man that looked to be early twenties. He smiled and nodded to them when he passed, but they did not even acknowledge him; to which, he just raised his eyebrows in a ‘whatever’ manner and continued down the hall.

As expected, the restrooms were empty.

After relieving himself, he maneuvered over to the sinks. His hands had been cleaned before he splashed water on his face, still trying to get rid of the remnants of the dream. He hung his head, allowing the water to drip off of his face and the tips of his hair that had managed to collect water, as well. Taking a deep inhale, he pulled his head up to look at his reflection: The usual tired-eyes graced his face – nothing new there. His chest panged when he noted that the only wound he had was the one on his forearm, but Sam….

_“You fucked up everything! He’s mine! Not yours!”_

His mouth tensed as he recalled the events.

Everything he had said….

He had to wonder: How much of it would Sam actually remember? In a way, he was hoping that his memory of the events would be tainted – that he would be unable to decipher between the mind games the demon was playing and reality. Perhaps Sam thought what Dean was saying was one of the many visions the demon had implanted in their minds.

He grabbed several paper towels from the dispenser and dried his face, making sure to toss them in the trashcan on the way out.

Once he left the bathroom, he noticed that, for some reason, the hospital hallway seemed strangely quiet. He glanced down the hall, only to see that it was empty. Curiosity plagued him as he began walking down the hallway, cautious. Just like their room, all of the rooms’ curtains were shut, blocking out all outside viewers; and all lights appeared to be off, including television sets that were in each room. Perhaps it was that late and no one slept with the on-going white noise. Yet, when he reached the Nurses Station, it was abandoned; the two nurses from earlier were nowhere to be seen. The lights were still on, but it was eerie to see the floor so bare.

Where could everyone have gone?

“Hello?” he called out, looking in all directions.

There was no response.

He peered down the hall that lead to their room, expecting to see a door open – that they were responding to something; but all of the doors were shut.

“Hey!”

Dean jumped at the sudden noise and spun around to see a man in a janitor’s uniform.

“Sorry,” the immediately apologized. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.” Dean bobbed his head, a half-cocky smile on his face. “You need help with anything?”

Dean shook his head, pulling the corners of his mouth down. “Nope.” The janitor raised their eyebrows. “Uh…actually, I was trying to find the, um, vending machines.” He tossed his hands up. “Can’t seem to find them.”

The janitor nodded, seeming to be used to hearing that. “Those are on the bottom floor in the cafeteria.”

“Awesome,” Dean shook his head as he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’m just, uh…gonna go grab some cash to do that.” The janitor only shrugged as Dean left his presence.

One thing the hunter could not help but notice was that the man looked awfully young to have a full head of gray hair.


	10. Silent Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the land of loneliness, time will settle soon~

**10**   
**Silent Circus**

It had taken ages for Dean to fall asleep in the uncomfortable chair. More than once, he had found himself contemplating whether or not to push Sam out of the bed and take over; and, if not Sam, than perhaps the man in the other bed. An idea that seemed a little better: He ended up taking one of the chairs in the hall and pushed that and the one he had been using together, forming a child-sized bed. He would have to have Castiel take him back to get things from the Impala – clothing in particular. It was always so cold in hospitals: germs could not survive in colder climates.

Once he managed to find a comfortable position after lying down, with his knees bend and arms pulled in to keep from hanging off of the chair, it took him a while to fall asleep. Yet, it was not the beeps and hums of the equipment that kept him awake; nor was it the cramped position he was lying down in. The way he was positioned, he had a perfect view of Sam and, with everything going on, he had a strange feeling that something was wrong. It took him a while to shake the feeling before he was finally able to fall comatose.

It did not feel as though he was out for very long before he groaned and lightly opened his eyes. It was just reaching dawn and he noticed the silhouette of one of the nurses in the room, most likely refilling the intravenous fluids. He shut his eyes, not wanting to wake up, believing it to be too early: Even Castiel was not going to return for a few hours, per Dean’s request. He listened to the nurse shuffle around the room. He heard the curtain rustle as she closed it, then went silent. Things appeared to go quiet and it must have seemed that she was quiet too long, because Dean became curious. He opened his eyes, his vision blurry as it tried to adjust.

The nurse was standing over Sam’s bed and, at first, it appeared as though she was administering whatever medications it was they had him on, but she seemed to be taking quite a long time to do something that should take less than a minute. Dean quickly shut his eyes back as she walked around the bed and exited the curtain that she had closed. He waited and listened for the door to open and close back before he opened his eyes again.

As his vision finally came into complete view, he pulled his head up, his heart jumping into his throat.

Sam’s eyes were wide open, staring at him as blood trailed out of every orifice on his face.

* * *

Dean jerked, nearly falling out of his makeshift bed as he flailed to keep his balance. He immediately put all of his attention on Sam, who was still sleeping, his breathing even and head facing away from the eldest. Dean cursed and sat up, pushing one of the chairs away as he wiped his face and rubbed his eyes, releasing a breath. Everything was said and done with, but, still, the nightmares would not stop. Either it was his own paranoia shedding through, or something was in the hospital causing them. He secretly hoped it was not the latter, not wanting to deal with a demon with everything else going on.

He set his forearms on his knees.

Eventually, he would have to get a decent night’s sleep.

Light was leaking into the room from the window, filling the room with light; the snow made it appear brighter and part of the outside window was covered over with frost. He continued to stare blankly out of the window, lost in thought.

After staring into the white void for a while, trying to sort his thoughts out, he released a sigh and ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. His look became curious when his eyes landed on the bed next to Sam’s and he leaned to make sure what he was seeing was not his mind playing tricks on him.

The man in the other bed was gone, the curtain pulled back to reveal the empty bed. Dean’s brow line creased and he stood up. It was possible the man was discharged; he did recall Castiel saying there was nothing wrong with him. He lifted his arms above his head and stretched, groaning as his back popped when he did. He brought his arms down and shook his shoulders. He stole a glance to the clock that sat on the table between the beds: Eight thirty-three.

An hour-and-a-half before the angel returned, hopefully with news worth hearing.

His stomach growled and he wrapped his arm around it. He tried to recall the last time he had actually eaten anything. He had been so concerned with Sam, the thought of food slipped his mind – not a common thing to happen; but, now, his body was demanding food. Taking to his feet, he made one final look to Sam and left the room.

Exiting the room, he wound up staring at the brightly lit hallway.

The _empty_ brightly lit hallway.

It was late enough – the hospital should have been bustling with life, but it was dead silent, which did nothing but raise Dean’s apprehension. He stood in the same spot, listening for any noise that would give the notion someone else was present. When there was nothing, he knitted his eyebrows and began walking down the hallway, caution filling each step. Without anything on his person, he was going to have to make do with whatever he came across; though he would rather not coming across anything. The Nurses Station had papers and other paraphernalia scattered about, but there was no life surrounding it. He walked around the counter and began searching through everything on the counter. Oddly enough, he ended up finding a scalpel in one drawer and a flashlight in another. He was unsure why he would need the latter item, but he took it anyway.

Once down the hall, he pressed the button for the elevator – it dinged and opened immediately. Looking in to make sure there was no one else in it, he stepped in and glanced at the abandoned gurney as the doors shut; the same gurney from last night. He was unable to remember exactly, but he was fairly certain there was not blood on the sheets the night before.

His entire body tensed when the doors opened to reveal the first floor.

He stepped out to see papers scattered all over the hallway, with blood splatters and smears covering the walls, ceiling and floor. A ceiling light straight above him was the only one lit, and it was barely flickering, casting shadows on overturned wheelchairs and gurneys. Despite all of the blood and disarray, there still were not any people – not even a body to account for. Gripping the scalpel tightly in his hand, he began walking passed the light, which only darkness lurked beyond.

Was it impossible to catch a break?

He flipped on the flashlight and held it up, shining it through the room. More blood smears on the walls were what it shined on; still there were no people to account for. Keeping his heart rate down, he scanned the entire room with the light, hoping that it would not catch anything.

“Dean.”

Dean jumped and spun around, holding the weapon up as his heart jumped to his throat and the light shined on a familiar face.

“Goddamn it, Cas! Can you not do that?!”

“Sorry,” came the response as Castiel squinted from the light in his face as Dean brought down the scalpel, straightening his shirt in an aggressive manner. “Dean—”

“What the hell’s going on here, Cas?” he interrupted, but Castiel just brought his chin down, hinting for Dean to get the light out of his face. Getting the gesture, Dean did just that.

“Where are you right now?” Castiel asked, eyeing Dean suspiciously.

Dean could only stare at him incredulously. “What the hell do you mean ‘where am I’?! Where’s it look like I am?!”

“Calm down.” Dean set his hand on his hip and wiped his face in exasperation. Castiel only continued to stare at him. “I need you to tell me where you are,” he said, meeting Dean’s eyes.

The response was an annoyed exhale, followed by a snort; but, regardless, Dean answered. “All right.” He shook his head. “I’m in the hospital…bottom floor.”

Castiel just nodded at the information. “What do you see?”

Dean shot him a dirty look. “What do I see?!”

“Dean….”

“Fine,” his tone was drenched in frustration. He took another look around the room. “There’s blood, a lot of it, everywhere. I can’t see anyone. It’s like everyone just vanished.”

“All right. One last question: Where’s Sam?”

Dean pulled his attention to Castiel, his expression dropping with eyebrows knitted together. “Sam?” His eyebrows shot up and, without saying a word to Castiel, he took off running down the hall. He past the elevator, figuring it to be too slow, and ran to the end of the hallway where the emergency stairs were. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, ignoring the blood-covered stairwell, and took the stairs two-at-a-time, using the rail to propel himself forward. He passed the sign for the second floor, panting by the time he reach the third floor and pulled the door open. He barely took the time to look down the hallway before running to the room holding his brother and pulling the door open.

He stood wide-eyed, staring at the bed as the door shut behind him.

Sam’s bed was empty.

 He took a step towards the bed, arm outstretched in front of him. He stared down at the empty bed, the sheets disheveled as his hands sat where his brother should have been; his eyes were frantic, scanning it up and down.

“He’s not here.”

Dean turned his head to see Castiel next to him.

“Where is he?” He faced the bed again, chest tightening. “He was right here!”

“Dean—”

“What do you know, Cas?!” he nearly shouted, jerking his head to glare at the angel with furious eyes. “Where the hell is he?!”

“Dean, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! Where the hell’s Sam?!”

“Don’t you know?” Both Dean and Castiel turned to see the new speaker, and Dean found himself tensing at the sight. Castiel stole a quick glance at him, appearing confused at his reaction as Dean took a step backwards. “He’s with me,” Belial spoke, a twisted smile plastered to his face.

“N-No,” Dean managed to get out, his expression wide in shock. The feeling from before returned and his heart beat one-thousand time per-minute in his chest. “That’s not possible….”

Belial slowly brought his gaze to Castiel. “Castiel, long time no see.” His attention returned to Dean. “What? You thought you escaped?” He laughed. “Oh, now that is priceless. I like you too much, Dean. No way I would get rid of someone as valuable as you.”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “Who are you?”

It drew Belial’s attention, whereas the demon put all of his focus on the angel. “What? You don’t remember me, Castiel? That hurts me…hurts me deep. I’m Belial, don’t you know?”

He heard Dean hit the bed behind him, but Castiel’s attention did not waver and he stood straight. “No, you’re not.” Belial raised his eyebrows. “I demand you tell me your name.”

At that, the demon only laughed. “You’re _demanding_ me?” Castiel’s shoulders seemed to box as the demon walked up to him to see him face-to-face. “I don’t take orders from flea-ridden rats with wings.” He brought his hand up to grab Castiel’s chin. “But I have an order for you, Angel—”

“No.” Castiel cut him short, knocking his arm out of the way, but making himself stand taller. “And mark this, demon: Stay away from the Winchesters, or they won’t be the only thing you will have yourself concerned with.” He brought his hand up and snapped his fingers. In an instant, the demon was gone. Castiel turned back to face Dean, who was staring at him in awe, still uncertain as to what had happened.

“Cas—”

“This isn’t safe, Dean. I need you awake.”

Dean’s eyebrows knitted together. “Wha—?”

Castiel brought up his index and middle finger, touching Dean’s forehead.

* * *

Dean gasped and shot up, falling out of his makeshift bed onto the cold, tiled, hospital floor. He rolled over onto his stomach, pushing himself up and grabbing onto the chair, looking over it to the hospital bed where Sam still lay, his breathing even as the heart monitor continued to beep steadily. He pulled himself to his feet, jumping when he realized someone else was in the room.

“Damn it!” he cursed, jerking his head away from Castiel. “Do you have to do that every time?!” Castiel just watched him as he recovered. Finally coming around, Dean shook his head. “What the hell was all that?”

“I’m not sure.” Dean scoffed. “Something is manipulating your dreams; you need to keep them out.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Right. Let me get right on that,” he responded sarcastically.

“This is a serious matter, Dean,” Castiel said as he watched Dean walk around him to stand by Sam’s bed. “This is not the work of some low-ranked demon. Whatever is following you is not going to give up until it has either you or Sam. You need to take precautions.”

“That’s great, Cas. And how do you expect we do that?” he asked, provocation flooding over him as he turned to face the angel, expression stern.

“I have already taken the liberty of sealing off Sam’s mind to keep this demon out. The effect is temporary, but it should last long enough. I need to do the same to yours.”

“Awesome. And let me guess: it some long-ass, tedious process that’s probably gonna hurt like hell.”

Castiel just stared at him. “There may be…some pain involved.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Huh. Shocking.”

“Dean.”

Dean turned to face Castiel just as the angel brought his hand up, touching the sides of his temple. That was the last thing he remembered before the room flashed white before entering solid darkness.


	11. Bitter Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**11**   
**Bitter Season**

“Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“You read my mind, Sammy.”

Dean shut the trunk to the Impala, snow falling off of the vehicle onto the ground from the vibration. The car moved as Sam got in, shutting the passenger side door. Dean shivered slightly as he stared at the area next to the car where Sam had just stood, mind wandering off. It had taken a week before Sam was healed up enough to move and, had it not have been for the nursing staff convinced that Sam was not able to be up and about, they would have left the moment Sam was awake; but, instead, they were stuck at the hospital an extra day before they ended up just leaving and having Castiel take them back to the motel. The shock came when everything was still there. The same clerk from before was at the counter when they came back, demanding that Dean pay-up for the week or he would turn them into the police for their collection of weaponry stashed in the room. Reluctantly, he forked over the extra five-hundred dollars, complaining that, now, they would be out of cash until they could stock up again. They had to hike back the half-mile to the Impala, but the roadways were at least clear enough to where the car could handle it. Besides that, Dean found himself constantly worrying about Sam’s health, despite the other’s claims that he was fine and nothing hurt.

Though, it was possible that was also due to the pain killers they swiped from the hospital pharmacy.

Still, Dean did not want to take the chance that Sam’s stitches would split open. The doctors and nurses had even advised them of that happening. Sam was stuck walking with crutches to keep pressure off of his right leg, so as not to risk the slice reopening and rendering him immobile. Though he protested, Sam insisted that he was fine and started to become annoyed when Dean would not let him carry any of the bags back to the car.

“Hey, let’s go.”

Dean shook his head to see Sam leaning out of the car, hand on the door. He nodded. “Yeah.” Sam rolled his eyes and shut the door back as Dean began walking to the driver’s side. He popped the door open and climbed in, slamming it shut. Once he was in, he rubbed his hands together. The car had already started to heat up, but the outside weather had him chilled. “All right, baby. I know you missed me,” he said as he gripped the steering wheel with his left hand and patted the dashboard with his right. “I promise I’ll never leave you again.”

Sam laughed, staring at Dean in disbelief. “Sometimes, I think you’re more concerned about the car.”

Dean looked at him, flashing all teeth. “That’s because I am, Sammy!” He ducked as Sam’s arm came across and hit him in the chest. “All right! Let’s get the hell out of this village!” He threw the car in reverse and backed away from the tree they had been parked in front of. Slapping it into drive, he began to pull out of their little hiding spot, making sure nothing was coming before pulling out onto the road. The car hummed as the wheels hit the pavement and he began to get up to speed. “Oh, baby! I miss that sound you make.”

“Remember, Dean”—Dean glanced sideways at Sam—“if you think you’re driving fast enough, go faster.” Dean laughed and pressed down more on the gas, making the car rev as he sped up. “I want to be as far away from this state as possible.”

He hit ninety right as they passed a sign showing the speed limit as sixty-five, making sure to note for police cars. The vibration of the car, the rumbled as it ran over asphalt and the hum the engine made as trees blurred past them felt normal – felt relaxing; probably the most relaxed and at-ease they had been in over a week. For a moment, everything felt the same and the usual air lingered. It almost let them forget everything that had happened – everything that was forced to happen.

As the snow-covered trees hung over them like a white tunnel, Dean found himself deep in thought. Everything that had happened over the course of the last week had them questioning everything they knew about themselves. He had to wonder what Belial made Sam witness; if he made Sam go through, not only the physical pain, but the mental anguish he had put him, Dean, through. Making Dean say that he was…in love with his brother.

No—

He may have made Dean say it, but the emotions….

They were…real?

Dean jerked, his thoughts forcing his neck to spasm. It seemed to be enough to gain Sam’s attention, whereas he felt his brother’s eyes on him.

“Dean?” He glanced sideways at Sam. “You all right?”

Dean had to think about it for a second, but he ended up nodding. “Yeah,” he said with his usual cocky laugh; the same laugh he always used when he was lying through his teeth. Hopefully, Sam, for once, did not pick up on it. “Yeah!” he said again, this time with more enthusiasm. “Damn right, I’m fine.” He did not even have to look over at Sam’s expression to know the odd look he was being given. “You’re in one piece, I’ve got my baby back, we’re getting the hell out of this goddamn place – why wouldn’t I be fine?”

He turned to face Sam, only to quickly turn back to the road. Sam was looking at him sympathetically. The look he always gave him when he knew he was spouting lies through his teeth. His shock came when Sam nodded.

“Yeah…okay.”

That raised concern.

For Sam to let it go? That never happened.

“What about you?” he asked, voice sincere as he stole another quick glance. “Are you okay?”

Just as with him, there was silence before, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

The air became awkward and Dean saw Sam shift, lean his elbow on the door and stare out of the window, watching the passing trees. Dean felt his chest tense. Everything Belial had said to him came rushing back into his head, no matter how hard he tried to stamp it out.

_“I bet you would like to fuck little Sammy, wouldn’t you? Hear him cry under you as you fuck him senseless.”_

Dean shook his head, trying to get rid of the voice.

_“You want Sam…really want Sam.”_

He jaw tensed and he tried to get his mind set on something else.

_“I’ll go ahead and break Sammy for you.”_

“Sam.”

Sam jumped at Dean’s voice cutting through the silence of the car, placing all of his attention on Dean. Dean turned his head to look at Sam before turning back to the road.

“What?” he asked, acting as though he was just pulled from sleep.

Dean stayed silent for a moment, trying to relax his breath. He felt Sam looking at him curiously, his eyes peering into him. Wondering if he should even bother, he bit the inside of his mouth nervously. “Can I ask you something?”

He still had a chance to turn away from the question.

“Yeah, what?”

Still had an opened window to change the question.

“Back there…in that house….” He could tell from Sam’s reaction that he instantly became uncomfortable at where the question was heading, but he was too far in. “With Belial. He didn’t”—Dean swallowed hard—“he didn’t…touch you, did he?” With the last part of the sentence, he turned to look at Sam; his brother’s face was flooded with confusion. Seeing Dean’s creased brow and expression must have been what gave it away, whereas Sam suddenly pulled back in shock.

“What?!” Dean seemed just as surprised at Sam’s reaction as Sam did. “No!”

Dean shook his head and faced the road. “Sorry! I just—”

“What the hell would make you think that he—I mean, what?!” Sam just continued to stare at him in disbelief, pulling his attention away from Dean to focus on anything except his brother. He shifted around uncomfortably in the chair. Taking advantage of Sam not looking at him, Dean quickly allowed his eyes to dart over to his brother. Seeing the reaction, he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that Sam was not being entirely truthful with him, and that made a sharp pang hit him in the chest.

An image of Belial touching Sam ran across his mind and he felt himself start to grow angry. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, but he shook off the feeling, trying to bring himself to relax.

The awkward air in the Impala stayed thick in the silence, so Dean reached down to turn on one of the tape tracks.

Ted Nugent’s ‘Stranglehold’ filled the car and he made sure to turn it up to try and block out the air. For the brief time the song was on, he had managed to lose himself in the song, paying attention to only that and the road. They passed a farm, which was nothing but snow-covered dead crops and a farmhouse in the distance. That was what Sam ended up watching fade into the distance before all he could see was white and gray.

* * *

Dean flipped through channels while he sat against the headboard of the bed in a cheap motel room, listening to the shower run from behind a closed door and trying to find something entertaining to watch. The clock on the cable box was reflection twelve-o-nine in green numbering. They did not stop driving until they had to pull over to fill up the gas tank and, by that time, the State was a few hours behind. They stopped again after it had gotten dark and they had driven so far, there was not even any snow on the ground. Unless something dire came up, it was a safe bet that they would lay low from hunting for a while; or at least until Sam did not have to use a crutch to whack demons with.

He let the channel land on some soap opera and felt awkward when he recognized it as _General Hospital_. Setting the remote next to him, he tossed his hands behind his head, glancing to the bathroom door, then paying attention to the television. He did not know what was worse; that he knew the show’s title or that he could actually follow what was happening. Sam would not let that one go.

He had changed his sitting position several times as the show ran, from lying on his back, to his side and, now, on his stomach facing the foot of the bed with a pillow propped under him for support. He began tuning in and out of the show about halfway through, mind drifting by the time the third set of commercials came by. How long would it be before Sam was healed enough to start hunting again? More than anything, Dean was eager to find the demon responsible for everything and not stop until they were in so many pieces, even the Heavens could not put their bits back together; but he would not risk anymore harm coming to them for the time being. Not that Castiel and Sam had continually talked him out of it or anything.

Among other things that had continued to haunt him were dreams, but not the dreams with whatever demon appearing – Castiel had made sure to block whatever it was from his mind. The dreams he had, now, had him up at all hours of the night, trying to get the images to fade by doing anything short of bashing his head against the closest object he could find. Dreams of Sam in different positions; whether he was being tortured by Belial as Dean could only watch the demon do unspeakable things to his brother, or whether he was the one doing those things, they would not fade. More than once, he dreamt where he was the one torturing Sam before fatally stabbing him in the abdomen, lifting the knife up and out as his brother’s innards spilled out on the floor in front of him. Each time he had that dream, he would wake up in a cold sweat; it would be hours before he was able to calm himself down enough to go back to sleep.

Between those dreams and the ones where he was laying with his own brother, in which case he would consistently kick himself for it, hours of true, restful sleep were far and few. For over a week, they had avoided talking about anything the demon had them see and anything he had done to them, other than discussing hunting the thing down. In a way, Dean preferred it that way, but he still found that his mind was begging to know what Belial, or whatever demon it was, forced upon Sam.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts when loud music began blaring from the television and he hastily searched around for the remote to turn it down. Once it was down, he cursed and ended up shutting it off, throwing the remote on the table between the two queen-sized beds. He stretched and sat straight, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at the clock. His eyebrows knitted together when the time reflected ten past one. His attention pulled to the still-closed bathroom door.

There was silence – not even noise from the shower.

He waited and listened for any sign of life, but, when he still was unable to hear anything, he stood up and walked around the beds to stand in front of the door.

Still no noise.

He brought his hand up and knocked lightly on the door, head face the floor.

“Sam? Everything all right in there?”

Silence.

He let his hand set over the handle. “Sam?”

“I’m fine,” came a rasped response before there was the sound of things being knocked around. “Shit!” Sam cursed as things sounded as though they collided with the floor. “Damn it – hold on.”

Dean stared at the door, his eyebrows creasing his forehead as an expression of confusion and curiosity washed over him. “What the hell are you doing in there?”

“I’ll be out in a sec.”

Dean frowned.

That was not quite the answer he was looking for.

He followed the sound of items being picked up followed by a moment of silence, and then some rustling. The door swung open to reveal a towel-clad Sam, with a crutch under his arm for support and other hand holding up the towel with gauze, medical tape and bandages stuffed under his arm. He inhaled before saying quickly, and in a rather annoyed manner, “Can you help me out here?”

Dean shook his head. “Oh, yeah.”

He grabbed everything from under Sam’s arm and moved out of the way to allow his brother to pass him, practically hobbling over to the bed, where his, Sam’s, bag sat on the mattress. Dean felt himself wince inwardly when his eyes traced all of the cuts, scars and stitched-up wounds covering Sam’s upper body. The long, thin cut that traveled down the length of his abdomen was nothing more than a healing scab, now, but the others, the deeper wounds, were still thick. As he walked over to the bed and set down all of the supplies, he could not help but let his eyes dart sideways to look from Sam’s upper thigh, where the towel covered, and downwards, following the long, stitched gash that went almost the entire way to his knee.

“You mind?”

Dean blinked and pulled his attention to meet Sam’s eyes. “What?” He looked at him curiously. Sam rolled his eyes in aggravation and motioned to the supplies. Hitting the realization, Dean, again, shook his head. “Right.” He sifted through the supplies and waved his hand. “This would be a lot easier if you’d sit down, Sasquatch.” Sam frowned when Dean’s arrogant smile crossed his face. Dean winked when Sam sat on the edge of the bed, though annoyed.

“Would you hurry up, though? We’ve been up since six and I’m feeling it.”

Dean suddenly looked saddened as he walked to stand in front of Sam, the gauze and tape in his hand. “God, Sam. Why do you have to act like a bitch?”

Sam choked on a laugh, which he tried to made sound sarcastic. “Oh, we’re back to that, huh?” Dean just smiled as he pressed the gauze to Sam’s shoulder, making him hold it in place as he began ripping the tape. “Glad to see you bouncing back, jerk.”

“What can I say?” He attached the tape to the gauze and Sam’s skin, allowing the younger Winchester to drop his hand. “Nothing can keep me down for long, Sammy.” His smile grew wider when he saw the amused expression on his brother’s face.  He pulled a few longer strips to secure it; Sam had already taken care of the wound on his stomach, which Dean was thankful for, glad he did not have to look at the one he had caused; but that did not keep his eyes from darting to it once or twice.  “All right,” he said as he pulled back, allowing Sam to press the bandage to form to his skin. “Prop your leg up.” Sam lifted his head to stare at him with a curious expression. “C’mon, man. I just patched you up and I’ll be damned if I let you tear my masterpiece.”

Sam frowned. “Oh, so sorry. Wasn’t aware I was your personal art project.”

Dean appeared sympathetic. “Awe, Sam.” His expression dropped. “Just do it.”

Obviously aggravated, Sam did not feel the need to argue over something he did need aid for. Unwilling to verbally admit it, it was painful for him to do simple tasks, such as bending to wrap his own wounds; he felt the stitches stretch just by walking. He tried to focus on something on something else when Dean knelt down between his legs after he propped his leg up on the opposite bed, giving Dean access to the gash. The feeling of awkwardness intensified as Dean began pressing the gauze to his upper thigh, mere inches away from his groin. The same feeling must have been felt by Dean, as well, where he had grown silent and kept a stern look on his face as he bandaged Sam’s leg. Once the gauze was in place, he grabbed the ACE bandage from where it was sitting on the bed and started wrapping Sam’s leg, making sure not to pull it too tight.

He was all patched up when Dean finally pushed himself to his feet, standing directly in front of Sam, who muttered a ‘thanks’ as he brought his leg down, kicking his leg a few times to keep certain the bandage was not going to fall off. Dean did not move, only looked down at Sam, tracing his face, including the healed cut on his face with a blank look as Sam’s eyes stared at his chest, appearing oddly tense. Dean’s mind flashed back to one of the dreams from the past week, seeing Sam under him, panting as his head was tossed back in ecstasy, brown hair flailed out around him. His heart started pounding vigorously in his chest.

Sam’s body covered in sweat.

His fingers entwined in the bed sheets.

Legs open as Dean thrust into him again and again.

His eyes continued to stare at Sam as his mind raced, clouding with more and more images. His mouth connecting with Sam’s as his tongue explored his mouth.

“Dean?”

Sam’s voice cut through his thoughts like shattering glass. He met Sam’s searching eyes, body tensing seeing the other’s concerned expression. His forehead creased, the picture of Sam’s face in ecstasy replaced the Sam sitting in front of him.

“ _Fuck me!_ ”

For a moment, he saw himself bending down and catching Sam’s lips in an aggressive kiss. The images in his head seemed so real, as though he was able to feel the other’s lips pressed against his own.

Dean jerked back, his face mirroring the shocked and confused expression on his brother’s face. His head swam, feeling light-headed as he swallowed hard, his chest feeling as though it would explode at any moment. Subconsciously, he had picked up that Sam was as surprised as he was; as confused as he was; and…as scared as he was?

The few seconds that followed felt like ages as they stared at each other, then Dean tore eye contact and turned away, walking hastily to the motel room door before swinging it open and slamming it shut behind him as he left the room, leaving a confused Sam behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anybody even reading this, anymore?


	12. 4 Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**12**   
**4 Pattern**

Dean found himself sitting on a swinging beach in a nearby park, elbows on his knees as the wind blew, picking up dead leaves and having them dance through the playground equipment. His mind raced, going back over the actions that had occurred a short while ago. He had become so wrapped up in the fantasy in his mind that reality became confusion, which lead him to—

A loud groan escaped his throat and he ran his hands through his hair, allowing them to rest on the back of his neck as he rocked back-and-forth on the swing.

How did he allow that to happen?

To his brother of all people….

It had to have been a figment of his imagination, or so he found himself wishing that it was.

“ _He’s mine!!”_

As though they did not have enough to concern themselves with, this had to be thrown into the mix.

But Sam?

It was his younger brother – he was supposed to protect him, not…this.

_This._

What was ‘this’?

He could still feel Sam’s lips pressed against his own.

_Goddamn that fucking demon!_

Dean brought his hands to wipe his face, his eyes slightly damp from frustration. A nagging thought in the back of his mind taunted him, reminding him that Castiel blocked the demon from getting in and effecting his and Sam’s thoughts and dreams, so everything was on him.

No.

He could not admit that; but then what was that back in the motel room? The image of Sam came back and he released a yell.

“Get the hell out of my head!”

The wind picked up right as he finished the sentence and the few lamps in the park began flickering. He stood up, the wind blowing hard enough to move the swings and the merry-go-round – the latter creaked as he slowly spun. His eyes darted around as he looked for something, the air seeming strangely thick. Concern filling him, he began walking back to the motel, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, fingers clasping around the weapon in his pocket as he stayed on alert, ready to defend if necessary. As he left the park through the gate, he made sure it was clear before jogging across the street, the streetlights casting shadows on everything around him. He passed the main building of the motel, the curtains to the windows shut and a little light slipping through the cracks, and walked around the corner to the rows of motel room doors. The dim lights in the parking lot were hardly useful.

He stopped short, his brow furrowing.

What looked like the shadowed outline of a person was standing under the streetlight outside of their room. He felt his fingers grip the weapon tighter.

“Hey!” he called out, trying to get their attention to see if it was someone or just the was a shadow was cast. The shadow moved suddenly, almost appearing to glide as they passed through the closed door to their room. “HEY!” Dean took off running to the door, the door already unlocked from how he had left it earlier. He pushed it open, his pistol drawn.

The only thing he was introduced to was the room how it had been when he left, with only one light on his side of the room, its dim glow the only light available. Sam was already asleep, the covers tossed over him, facing the wall, his back towards Dean. The covers rose and fell with his breathing and Dean’s eyes shot around the room. He walked to the bathroom and flipped the light on.

There was nothing there.

Turning back to face the room, he exhaled as he scanned it over again; other than himself and Sam, the room was bare. He could have sworn he had seen something enter the room, but, at the same time, he was exhausted and it could have been his mind playing tricks on him. It seemed to be doing that a lot lately. His paranoia got the best of him and he ended up rummaging through the bag on the table for the EMF meter. He frowned when he turned it on and nothing happened. He walked around the room, scanning anything and everything, including Sam, without results.

He moved to sit on his bed against the headboard, deciding to monitor the room for a bit longer before calling it a night. The clock was reflecting half-past two and he relaxed his shoulders, occasionally glancing to Sam; each time, his chest pained, recalling what happened merely an hour ago.  What would Sam think in the morning? Was this just going to be another thing they were stuck ignoring, like they were ignoring things that happened in the house?

Sam was still staying tight-lipped about what happened and what Belial had done, which had Dean growing more and more concerned. For all of his wounds, Dean refused to believe nothing had happened, but if he continued to press Sam for answers, Sam was bound to do the same; and there were some things that he did not want him to find out. Either way, after the episode earlier, he knew his brother was going to hound him until he said something, but perhaps there was a chance that he would not – that Sam would ignore it had even occurred.

His mind shot back to earlier, his body leaned down as he forced his mouth on his brother’s. He could see it, as though he was watching a film in third-person; Sam’s shocked expression, too stunned to react; Dean coming to the realization of what was happening and jerking away….

He hit the back of his head on the headboard.

Tomorrow was going to wind up being an awkward morning.

* * *

Sam sat on the couch in a dingy motel suite, the television turned on to a movie he bought through the service provided by the motel and a bag of pretzels sitting next to him with an opened IBC bottle in his hand. His feet were propped on the couch, one leg bent up while he sat on the opposite foot. The girl in the movie screamed as she ran from a masked kill wielding a butcher knife. Sam laughed when she tripped and only watched as the killer approached her. The moment of laughter was gone as he took a drink from the bottle, glancing to the door. He heard a key insert into the outside keyhole, along with laugher as the lock clicked and the handle turned.

A nineteen-year-old Dean came stumbling through the door with a woman behind him, looking at least three years older than he was; both were laughing, obviously intoxicated. Dean held up his hand, making a shushing noise. The woman tried to stifle her laughs by covering her mouth with her hand. Dean gave her the sign to wait and he moved across the room to Sam. When he set his hand on Sam’s shoulder, Sam merely shot him a sideways glance.

“Hey, Sammy.”

Sam frowned at his brother’s slurred speech, his mouth tensing as annoyance traced his features.

“What?”

“Look, buddy. Can you”—he glanced over his shoulder at the woman, then turned back to Sam—“give me an hour…roughly?”

The look of irritation was replaced with vivid aggravation. “Seriously?” Dean gave him a nervous smile, to which Sam only scoffed. “Where do you expect me to go? Just so you can get laid?”

“Awe.” Dean stepped in front of his brother, trying to keep his voice down so the woman could not hear them. “Come on, Sammy. Help me out here.” When Sam’s look stayed stern, Dean became serious. “Damn it, Sam. Don’t be like this.”

Sam knocked Dean’s hand off of his shoulder and uncrossed his legs. “Don’t be like what, Dean? What? Don’t be pissed that you go out and get hammered while Dad’s gone, then expect me to up and do whatever you want? You don’t own me.”

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm when his brother stood up, pulling him close. “And when Dad’s not here, I’m in charge.”

Sam jerked his arm away, fury fluttering across his face as he stared into Dean’s eyes. Without another word, he shoved past Dean, making sure to weave around the woman as he left through the opened door, slamming it shut as hard as he could behind him.

Shoulders tensed and hand formed to fists in his pockets, Sam stormed down the concrete pathway, shoes slamming against pavement as he went down the stairs, nearly missing the last stair as he reach the bottom. He hardly remembered leaving the motel’s property, but he ended up on a street filled with nothing but bars; more than likely, it was the same area Dean had picked the woman up from. Straight across the alleyway appeared to be a Redlight District, or so the appearance of scantily clad women and amount of people seemed to suggest so.

Sam began searching his person: The dagger in his inside jacket pocket safe, he dug around until he pulled out his small, flat wall harboring fake identification cards. The ages on all of them were either eighteen or nineteen, not being able to pass for any older than that; Dean had made the point of joking about it on more than one occasion. Eighteen was old enough to get into a bar, but only to sit there or play a few rounds of pool – it was the latter reason why he usually wound up in bars, anyway. He pulled out the ID card for the state they were in and kept it in his front pocket, walking into a bar: Heaven’s Night was what the purple neon sign read.

The bar was busy and loud, most people yelling to have to be heard over the loud rock music and other people yelling to do the same. He squeezed his way through the crowded bar, trying to avoid bumping into people. He ended up running into one guy, who appeared to be a frat boy, and gave a nervous smile as he apologized; the guy cursed from his drink being spilled, but waved Sam off as his friends laughed and cried “party foul” over and over. He made his way to the pool tables.

There were a few groups shooting, taking up each of the tables, so, for a few minutes, Sam only watched as the groups bet against each other. That lasted only as long as he went unnoticed, which was not very long, whereas one of the players looked at him when he saw Sam watching. He nudged his partner in the side and motioned to Sam as the people they were playing against left the area to claim a table.

“Hey, ya gonna watch or play?” they asked, their husky voice calling over the noise around them.

Sam shrugged. “Ah, I’m just a spectator.” He watched one of the other groups rack up the pool balls. “I’ve tried to play; my brother and I always practice, but I always end up losing.”

The two guys exchanged looks and the larger of the two, bald-headed and tricked out with tattoos up his arms and neck, walked around the table to move closer to Sam, so as to be heard without having to yell. “Look, how about this, kid – first off, how old are ya?”

“Eighteen,” he responded without any hesitation.

“All right.” Sam exhaled inwardly. “You put twenty bucks forward and I’ll show ya a few things.”

Sam thought about it for a moment before pursing his lips together. “What’s the catch?” he asked, lifting his head up to stare at the man bearing over him. “I’m not gonna just put out twenty bucks for nothing.”

The man, again, exchanged looks with his partner. “Okay. Here’s the deal: If ya can mimic my shots, the money’s yours. But, if ya miss one, it’s mine.”

Sam’s eyes glanced down, contemplating before lifting his head back up. “Yeah. Okay.”

The man looked at his partner, who took out a twenty and set it on the rim of the table. Sam reached in his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled up bills, sorting through them for a twenty, to which he placed on top of the other’s twenty. He walked around the table to grab a cue stick, chalking it as the man’s partner began racking up the balls.

Once they were set, the bald-headed man broke them, sinking the six in the middle left pocket. “All right,” he started, “here’s where this starts. I’ll go and we just switch off until you either miss one or they’re all in. Doesn’t matter solids or stripes.” Sam only nodded as the man walked around the table. He lined up his shot with the cue ball, banking it off of the rim and slamming it into the seven, which rolled and glided into the right corner pocket. He motioned for Sam to go. Sam stared at the setup for a moment before following the cue ball, trying to line up a shot. A little less than perfect, he managed to bank it and sink the two. The man raised his eyebrows. “Not bad.” Meeting the white ball, he pointed his cue stick at an angle, ready to bounce it over the eight to hit the seven behind it. When he made the shot, Sam crooked his mouth. He traded places with the man, seeming to try and line up the shot. He swallowed, keeping his face stern as he concentrated on making it. However, when he hit the cue ball, it bounced up…right over the table.

Sam instantly stood straight, mouth pursed. “Oops.”

The man clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Awe. That’s too bad, kid.” He looked at his partner, who reached his hand to set it on top of the forty dollars near him.

Sam shook his head. “Wait!” He bent down and picked up the cue ball. “Let me try again!” he nearly pleaded. “Double or nothing!” He set the ball on the table and reached into his pocket, pulling out another twenty and slapping it down on the rim.

The man raised his eyebrows. “Look, kid. You’re gonna make me feel back to take your money.”

Sam shook his head. “Come on. You nervous I’ll actually do it?”

At this, the man seemed oddly amused. “Now, I know you’re not trying to call me out on that.” Sam crossed his arms, left eyebrow raised, vanishing under his bangs. The man shrugged. “All right. But no crying when you’re out.” He, again, acknowledged his partner, who set another twenty on the rim, as well.

Again, they racked the balls up and, again, the man broke them. He lined up his next shot, this time, not only banking the cue ball off of the left corner to hit the eight, but bumping the eight into the two and five, sinking both of them. He took a step back, an arrogant look on his face as he saw Sam’s nervous expression as he walked around the table, trying to line up a similar shot. His look became curious when Sam was successful in making it. He traded places with the teenager and lined up the cue ball with the edge of the four. Hitting it with enough force, it knocked into the four, forcing it to spin and curve its way to the upper right pocket. Sam chewed the inside of his lip, trying to figure out how to do the same. Thinking he had a good angle, he lined up; only, instead of doing the same, when he knocked the cue ball into the ten, he hit it with too much force and, again, the cue ball flew off the table.

“Damn it.”

“Kid, this is just not your game.” Sam frowned when the man’s partner picked up the eighty dollars. “Ya ever think maybe there’s a reason why your brother always wins?”

Becoming frustrated, Sam pulled out what was left in his pocket, tossing four crinkled twenties on the pool table. “One more time, straight game, all or nothing.”

The man and his partner exchanged amused glances. Finally speaking for himself, the partner spoke up. “We’re not gonna take anymore of your money.”

Sam’s face became harsh. “Play me, damn it.”

The partner shrugged, looking at the other man who released a sigh. “Fine. Last time, got it?”

Sam just nodded his head once. “Whatever. Just rack’em up.” The man waved his hand as his partner began doing just that.

“Manage to keep the cue ball on the table this time.” Sam frowned as the man chuckled.

The man lined up to break them and take the first shot. He made three shots before finally missing and Sam stepped in. He only made the thirteen, missing the next shot, to which the man and his partner laughed – it should have been an easy shot. Ten minutes later and they had onlookers, either because what looked like a newbie was playing against the house player or because Sam was managing to hold his own. The tattooed man could be seen becoming slightly agitated, but when he missed his final shot for the eight, he stepped back, snickering. The three and the eight were against the left end rail, touching, the cue ball near the right end of the table. He nudged his partner in the side and said something, laughing as they watched Sam walk around the table, contemplating. His last chance and he had to sink the three or he would end up being out a hundred and twenty dollars.

He leaned on the edge of the table, lining up the shot.

“Good luck with that one.”

Sam rolled his eyes at the snarky comment from the man’s partner. He hit the cue ball hard enough to go straight on a spin. It knocked into the two balls at the end, forcing the three to roll along the edge into the pocket as the cue ball bounced off of the edge into the slowly moving eight-ball, giving it enough force to roll into the left middle pocket. He stepped back, only half of his mouth formed into a smile, obviously content.

“I believe I won,” Sam said, turning to the man.

His partner had his eyebrows up in amusement while the man looked aggravated. Sam only stared at him, finally turning his back with a shrug as he walked to where the two-hundred and forty sat on the edge of the table. His hand had just touched it when the man walked up to Sam, towering over him and slamming his hand down on Sam’s. “There ain’t no way in hell.” Sam only stared up at him. “Nine out of ten people couldn’t make that shot.”

Sam only shrugged. “Looks like I’m in the ten percent, then,” he said, pushing the man’s off with the cash in his own.

“You fuckin’ hustlin’ me?” His expression was furious and Sam took a step backwards, a nervous smile on his face.

“‘Hustling’ is such a strong word, don’t you think?”

He took another step backwards, but the man grabbed his jacket, jerking Sam and shoving him over the table. “What? You think this is fuckin’ funny, you piece of shit?!”

Sam only had his mouth opened to respond before he felt something hard and heavy make contact with the side of his face. It stunned him for a moment, trying to register what happened as he heard someone yell, “Take it outside!” He brought his hand up to wipe his face as he felt himself being pushed, or maybe pulled, through the bar and to the door. Next thing Sam realized was that his back was against the outside brick wall of the building.

“Hey, now. Can’t we settle this in a sophisticated manner?” Sam asked, smiling awkwardly.

The man growled, him and two other people following him out; apparently, this man was more well-known around the bar than Sam originally thought. “Ya wanna fuckin’ embarrass me and think you’re gonna get off?”

“Well,” Sam said, laughing nervously as his eyes darted to the other two men behind this one. “When you word it that way, it seems so bad.” He gauged them. One was rather tall and lanky, so he would probably be able to take him without much effort if he needed to, but it was this man and the man’s other partner from inside that had him concerned. One-on-one, he would not have a problem. They were strong, but that probably meant they were slow, too. As the man gritted his teeth, Sam brought up his leg and kicked the man in the stomach, forcing him to gasp for air as he dropped Sam and pulled back. Taking advantage of the others’ stunned reactions, he ran at the lankier man, shouldering him in the chest and causing him to fall. He went to dart off, but he felt one of them grab his upper arm. He spun back around, bringing up his fist to catch them in the throat, but they ended up grabbing his fist, their entire hand managing to fit over Sam’s as they twisted his wrist, followed by his arm, pinning it to his back. When the man’s partner grabbed his other arm to pin them both back, his initial reaction was to kick his foot back to kick the other’s knee; however, they appeared to be expecting it, whereas, the way they had their foot and leg positioned between Sam’s, it made the move impossible to do.

When the man approached him, despite Sam’s heart beating hard in his chest, the nervous, and now somewhat fearful, smile was still on his face. “Can’t we talk this out?” The response was another hit across the face, making his head snap sideways. His head swam as he groaned. “I guess not.” The one holding Sam shoved him forward, allowing the man to grab Sam again and shove him back against the wall, his fist connecting with the young hunter’s stomach.

“You do not fuckin’ mess with me, kid!”

There was the cry of pain before a thud was heard behind the tattooed man’s back.

“And you do not fuckin’ mess with my brother.”

The man dropped Sam, who groaned while holding his stomach as his hand was set on the wall for support, and turned to see his partner on the ground while being death-glared by green eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Dean stepped over the unconscious man on the ground to get closer to the man Sam was still recovering from. “I’m the guy who’s gonna bust your teeth all over this sidewalk if you don’t leave him alone. Now, back off.”

The man relaxed, shaking his head and chuckling, most like because Dean’s stature was much smaller than his own. In an instant, he brought up his fist in a roundhouse, which Dean dodged, grabbing the man’s forearm and pulling him forward into his brought-up knee, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled backwards as Dean let him go; however, he failed to see the other man recovering and was surprised when he felt contact on his spine in the middle of his back. He fell forward with a groan and was met with the tattooed man’s fist in his face. He brought back his elbow to keep the other man back, but, instead, his arms were looped, putting him in a reverse keylock. Recovered, the man came up and punched Dean in the stomach. Not giving him a chance to get loose, he did it again hitting him over and over in the abdomen until Dean was coughing and wheezing.

His forehead was held up by the other’s palm, his eyes half-opened and face twisted in pain. “I’m gonna kick your ass, then I’m gonna kick your brother’s ass. Ya don’t mess with me.” He brought back his other fist, ready to punch the hunter across the face, but was caught off-guard as he was tackled sideways to the ground. Sam wrestled him on the ground, catching him a few times in the jaw, but the man quickly turned the tables and had Sam pinned underneath him, hitting him repeatedly in the face.

Dean took advantage of the partner’s slacked hold and freed himself, bringing up his palm and catching him underneath his jaw, making his head snap backwards and fall to the ground. He kicked him hard in the stomach when he tried to get up, making sure he would stay down before going to aid his brother. He grabbed the man on top of Sam around the neck and shoulders, pulling him up and off, tossing him backwards. When the man went to attack him again, Dean reached behind him underneath his jacket, pulling out a polished handgun. Instantly, the man’s hands went up in a defensive stance.

“Back off,” Dean said with threatening eyes. He stepped backwards and crouched down to help pull Sam to his feet; his aim at the other did not waver. “You touch my brother again and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes.” His voice was even and the man dropped his arms as he glanced to see his partner climb back to his feet before moving away and ditching the scene. The man sneered. “Leave.”

The man’s nostrils flared, but he took a step back, wiping his jaw before turning around. Before he vanished back within the bar, Dean heard him mutter, “Fuckin’ faggots.”

Once he was out of sight, Dean put the weapon back, and then turned to Sam; the left side of his face was cut and swollen, and he flinched back when Dean went to touch the bruise forming underneath his eye. “Damn, Sammy….”

“Don’t patronize me, Dean,” Sam said, pulling back from Dean’s hand.

Dean frowned and dropped his hand, grabbing Sam’s shoulder and turning him to face the direction of the motel. “You know not to do anything unless I’m with you,” he said as they started walking. Sam stayed silent and Dean sighed. “Sam—”

“So how was she?” Sam snapped, keeping his eyes forward, refusing to look at his brother.

Dean stared at him minor shock. He shook his head. “I – I didn’t.” Sam glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Dean released a nervous exhale. “Sam…you’re a bigger concern to me than some chick.” When Sam scoffed, Dean stopped walking and grabbed Sam’s wrist, turning him around so they were standing facing each other. He put his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Sammy…look at me.” Avoiding his eyes for a moment, Sam brought his gaze up to meet his brother’s. “You’re my brother and the last thing I want is to drive a wedge between us. With Dad gone most of the time, we’re the only ones we can count on. And I’ll be damned if I let something come between that.” Sam’s eyes seemed to shimmer as he peered into his older brother’s eyes. “So!” Dean suddenly perked, grinning. “How much did you make off’em?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like flashbacks. 
> 
> Fight me.


	13. Heaven's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**13**  
**Heaven’s Night**

Sam awoke to a pain in his shoulder and his face contorted in pain as he moved, rolling over onto his back; his fist had been pushing against the bandaged wound due to how he was laying on his side. He opened his eyes to stare at the dark ceiling, his heart jumping to his throat as he shot up, looking around. He released a breath when he saw the contents of the motel room, not being the first time he had woken in the middle of the night. The air conditioner was on underneath the window, filling the room with cool air; the red light from the smoke detector on the wall was emitting a very faint glow and Dean was sprawled out on his stomach in the next bed over. His arms were under the pillow, his legs in a V with the covers covering only one leg, his right foot dangling off of the bed; he was facing Sam, his face pressed against the pillow, his mouth slightly open. A lump formed in Sam’s throat, recalling earlier: Dean staring down at him, seemingly lost in thought.

Bending down, aggressively pressing his lips against Sam’s.

Sam pulled his attention away, mind racing.

He could not understand whether or not that had actually occurred or if it was only another illusion his mind concocted as an underlying effect from Belial’s sick games. It had to be the latter; it was the only thing that made sense. Besides, it was his brother; and it was not as though they did not have enough on their plate without adding this to the mix. The question that was nagging in the back of Sam’s mind was, if it was only an illusion, then why did Dean appear so shocked and leave without so much as a word?

He grabbed his shoulder, pressing on it to force the pain to knock out any thoughts. He bit back a shout and released his grip, sucking in a breath to avoid making any noise in risk of waking his sleeping brother. He used his arms to push himself back so he could swing his leg over the bed. He had to help his other leg, using his hands to toss it over the edge and set his feet on the floor. He used the edge of the table to push himself up, grabbed one of the crutches that leaned against the wall between the table and the bed and used it to aid his hobbling figure through the dark room to the bathroom, trying to avoid running into anything. He turned the bathroom light on only after the door was shut.

He leaned on the sink after setting the crutch against the wall, taking some of the pressure off of the injured leg. He stared at his reflection in the mirror: The cut on his cheek was going to leave a faint scar and he questioned whether or not it would leave a permanent one. His eyes trailed to the wound on his abdomen and he phased out, staring at it.

_“HE’S MINE!!”_

Sam blinked and shook his head, staring back up to his reflection, forehead slightly creasing as his eyes glazed, the words ‘he’s mine’ echoing in his mind.

What the hell was going on?

A noise from outside the door made him jump and jerk his attention. He saw movement underneath the door, which quickly vanished, but it raised his curiosity. He grabbed the crutch against the wall and used it to support himself as he opened the door. He was suspecting that it was Dean, who had woken up from the noise of the bathroom fan, but walking out of the bathroom, he caught the hotel door closing. He knitted his eyebrows together; Dean was still asleep in the same position, only he released a groan and turned his head away from Sam, facing the window. Trying to be as silent as possible, Sam crossed the room, stopping by the bag on the table and grabbing a loaded handgun before silently opening the door and dodging out. He did not shut the door completely, just enough to where it would have to be pushed to open for any reason. Walking with only the single crutch would not have been as difficult, but keeping the grip on the weapon as he supported himself made it that way.

He looked around; whoever or whatever it was could not have gotten very far.

The parking lot was nearly empty, nine or ten cars filling parking spots; the wind picked up and hit him in the face, but he ignored the chill bumps the cold forced on his arms and the back of his neck. Keeping the weapon by his side, he walked into the lot, eyes constantly darting around, searching for the slightest bit of movement to hint that he was not alone. He heard what sounded like a thud connecting with metal near three vehicles parked in the center of the lot. Shooting another quick glance around, he went over, hand tightening around the pistol. He in-between two of the cars when a thump from underneath it made him jerk his attention just in time to see a cat run out from under the car and dart off across the lot. He frowned as it disappeared underneath some bushes.

The crunch of asphalt behind him had him spin around and stumble backwards at the sight.

His crutch hit the ground with a rattle and he fell back against the car, using his arm to grab hold of the side-view mirror to keep his balance; his heart pounded in his throat and when he tried to pull the weapon up, it was knocked out of his hand, hitting the asphalt and sliding under the car.

“Now, Sammy. You wouldn’t shoot me, would you? After everything we’ve been through?”

Sam shook his head. “No…it’s not possible. We made a deal.”

Belial clicked his tongue and looked up and off to the side, dragging down his lip as he nodded. “We did, we did. But, you see,” he grabbed Sam’s face, pulling himself closer, “there are some things you just can’t get rid of.” He blocked Sam’s hand when the other went to hit him, pinning it to the car as he leaned in and connected his mouth with Sam’s. Sam spat at him when he pulled back, a sly smile on his face. “Sam,” he lulled, releasing Sam’s hand and running his own hand up along the long slice on Sam’s inner thigh. “You’re not gonna try and tell me that you forgot everything we did, are you?”

Sam released a shout as the gash began to sting, radiating up through his hip. “Get the hell away from me!” He released his grip on the mirror, catching Belial in the jaw and making him let go as he fell backwards. As Sam tried to move away, the pain shot down his leg and he ended up on the ground. The silver glint of the gun was within his reach under the car, but when he went to reach for it, his shoulder was grabbed and he was made to turn around, winding up on his back. Belial stared at him intently as Sam reached his arm back, trying to grope around for the weapon. He found it, but the second it was within view of the other, he grabbed his wrist and they ended up fighting for it. Sam’s hand was knocked against the side of the car, which caused him to release it; it went off when it hit the ground and bounced out of his reach.

Belial was straddling him, his hand pinning Sam’s left hand to the ground as his other hand grabbed the right side of Sam’s face.

“Get off!” he shouted, bringing up his free hand. It was arrested and pinned down with the other.

“Goddamn it, Sam! Wake the hell up!”

Next thing he realized, he was staring at his brother’s face.

Dean was on top of him, pinning him to the asphalt, his face panic-stricken hovering over him. Sam’s heart was beating rapidly and he swallowed hard, eyes darting around his brother’s features before meeting his eyes; his breath was quick and he was trying to register what was going on. His shoulder throbbed and a sharp pain was radiating up and down his leg.

“It’s me, Sam!”

Sam’s eyes seem to echo the realization and appeared to pulse as he locked gazes with Dean.

“Dean?”

He nodded, expression a mix between concern, sadness and fear. “Yeah, buddy.” He shifted off of Sam to his side, but kept his hand on the side of Sam’s face, running his fingers up through his hair. “It’s me.” He released Sam’s wrist and face to pull back when Sam cringed, pushing himself to a sitting position. When he went to move his leg, pain shot down it and, from reflex, he went to grab it. “Shit, Sam,” Dean muttered as he looked down and touched Sam’s leg; blood was beginning to seep through the stitches, dripping down his leg and onto the asphalt. He looked back to Sam. “Can you stand?”

Sam exhaled and nodded, trying to hide the obvious fact he was in pain. “Yeah.” He looked around, leaned back and grabbed his fallen crutch. Shooing Dean away, he set the crutch on the ground and, along with his hand on the vehicle for support, used it to push himself up to his feet. When Dean went to assist him after he stumbled, Sam held his hand up, signaling that he was fine.

Dean looked annoyed behind the concern. “What the hell was that about?”

Sam shrugged as he hobbled to keep his balance. “Nothing.” He caught Dean’s frown. “Just a bad dream.”

“Stop bullshitting me, Sam!” Dean shouted, a little louder than he anticipated, which had Sam glance down. “I know something happened – that sick...fuck did something!”

“Oh, you mean like whatever happened to you?!” Dean bit down on his jaw as he and Sam’s eyes locked; his brother’s expression mirrored his own – confusion as to why they were becoming angry, as well as the concern hidden behind the front. “Why don’t we talk about that, Dean? Let’s talk about what he did to _you_ – all the crap he made _you_ see and _you_ live through.” Dean’s eyes did not falter, but he stayed silent. “I’ll open up when you do.”

Despite his condition, Sam pushed passed Dean, practically hopping back to the room. Dean watched him enter and slam the door shut behind him. He stared after him for a moment, an odd expression on his features. Dragging his attention back to the car, he bent down and reached under the vehicle, grabbing the fallen weapon, and then standing up. Glancing around for anyone else in the parking lot, he followed after Sam.

The moment Dean was back in the room, he was introduced to gauze, tape and scissors whizzing by his head and slamming against the wall. He sighed when he saw Sam rock down with his elbows on his knees, hands on his head and facing the floor. Dean held the weapon and clicked on the safety, and then walked back to the back it came from, stashing it under some clothes. He exhaled, shaking his head before glancing to Sam; his stature had not changed. He began walking over, stopping short next to him.

“Sam?”

“What the hell’s happening to us, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes quickly glanced down, darting around in front of him. He questioned whether or not Sam realized how small and frail his voice sounded at that moment.

“I don’t know.” The response sounded pathetic, even to him. He released another sigh when Sam did not respond and moved to sit next to his brother. He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. “Look, Sam, I’m not even going to begin to understand what the hell’s going on; and I’m not gonna act like it, either. But, in your words, we can’t do anything unless we talk it out.” He turned his head to look at him.

Still no response.

“Fine,” he said, sitting straight and setting his hands on his knees. “If you don’t want to—”

“Why did you ask if he touched me?” Dean stopped and pulled his attention to Sam, who was now staring up at him, his eyebrows slightly up, creasing his forehead with shimmering eyes. Dean only watched him, not knowing how to respond. Sensing his apprehension, Sam spoke again. “And don’t say, “Just because.” You want to truth from me, then you’re gonna have to start speaking up, too. You said talk, so talk.”

Dean continued to stare at him, just watching, contemplating his next words. The air between them became thick. Dean swallowed and broke eye contact, setting his elbows back on their previous location and slouching down. He stayed silent for a moment, staring straight ahead at the window before asking, “How much do you remember?”

His chest tightened, waiting for the reply.

“Everything.”

His heart fell with his head. He made a sideways glance, catching Sam’s gleaming stare.

“I’m yours, Dean?”

His heart wanted to stop at that moment; his throat tightened, almost closing off his air. The air stayed awkward as they continued looking at each other. Finally, Dean brought himself to speak. He blew out the breath he realized he had been holding, breaking gazed and running his hand through his hair.

“You’re my brother, Sammy.” He paused, garnering knitted eyebrows from Sam. “It’s my job to protect you.” He let his head face his brother.

“Dean, it’s not yo—”

“No,” he cut him off abruptly, pulling up and locking eyes, making Sam fall silent, a concerned expression toying with his features. “I don’t give a damn what you think, Sam.” His voice came out harsher than he had intended. “You’re my little brother. Protecting you is as much my job as hunting. And I’ll be damned to let you or some bastard say or tell me otherwise.” Sam’s eyes moved to the side. “So, yeah. You bet your ass that you’re mine.” Dean could feel his anger rising once again at the illusion memory of Belial touching Sam. “No one’s allowed to touch you,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to shake the image.

Belial’s twisted grin as he ran the knife down the length of Sam’s abdomen….

Popping off the button to his jeans….

Allowing the silver blade to penetrate the band of Sam’s waistband….

“I don’t want you getting hurt or killed because of something I did, Dean.” He glanced to Sam, who was avoiding eye contact as he rubbed his leg. Dean made a quick glance down to see Sam’s horrible patch-up job and blood seeping through the wrappings. “Say what you want, try to convince yourself otherwise, but the truth of the matter is that none of that would have happened if I would have just stayed at the motel and done research.” He saw Dean roll his eyes.

“Damn it, Sam. You know that’s a load of bullshit.”

Sam frowned and a knot formed in Dean’s stomach. He wanted to kick himself – he had those thoughts, blaming Sam for everything, even though he knew that it was not his brother’s fault.

“You can’t lie to me, Dean. I know you blame me, and I understand. I do, too.” Dean could only watch him sympathetically, but he did not interrupt. “I had to watch you die…over and over. Every single time it was because of something I did.”

They both fell silent, keeping their eyes locked; Sam’s remorseful gaze met with Dean’s exasperated one. Dean broke away, thinking. He knew what he wanted to say, but was not sure on exactly how to word it. He felt Sam’s eyes on him last for a bit longer before leaving him, most likely not expecting an answer. The room felt small as he continued to search for the right thing to say.

“I can’t blame you, Sam.” Sam pulled his head up to look back at Dean, who was still facing the wall. “Yeah, sure. I could, and for a little while back there, I did; but to be honest”—he turned to meet the stare of his brother—“I would have done the same damn thing had the roles have been switched. I guess that prick was right about that,” he breathed a laugh, but Sam’s expression was curious. “We’re alike, Sammy.”

“Oh.”

That was the look of recognition he was looking for, so Dean continued. “More times than once, he said he felt like we were the same person and, unfortunately, he was right. …I don’t want you to end up like me – actually, I won’t let you.”

“Dean,” Sam said, slightly aggravated. “You can say that all you want, but you’re my older brother. No matter what you say or what you want, I’m always going to look up to you…even if I don’t want to.”

Dean released a hollow laugh, which garnered a smirk from Sam.

“Yeah,” he responded with a chuckle. “Well, I’m done with this chick flick,” he said as he pushed himself to a stand. “I can feel my masculinity being whittled away.”

“You have any?” Sam asked, getting a sneer as a reply.

“Let’s get you patched up properly, all right?” he said, referring to Sam’s failed attempt at wrapping his leg.  

Sam shook his head as he looked down, not wanting to admit Dean was right. Dean walked over to retrieve the fallen items against the wall, gathering them and moving back to where Sam sat on the bed. He nudged Sam’s foot, inferring him to extend his leg to give better access. As Dean knelt down as he had done before, Sam’s eyes following him absently, the younger hunter felt a nagging feeling to ask a question that had been bothering him.

“All right, one last thing and that’s it.” Dean grunted for him to continue as he began cutting off the wrapped bandages. His posture was proving he was only partially paying attention. “Earlier…what was that?” Dean stopped for a moment and quickly glanced up at him before looking right back down, aggressively ripping the bandages off. “Or are we supposed to act like that didn’t happen?”

“Can we go ahead and do that? I like that idea.”

“Dean.”

Dean sighed and became silent, applying the tape to the gauze over the wound. Sam just watched him, both feeling tense and awkward. Once the gauze covered the long gash, Dean exhaled and set his hand on Sam’s knee, facing the floor.

“Sam…I’d like to say it wasn’t anything, but….” He trailed off, bringing his head up to peer at Sam. He shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” The two of them exchanged awkward glances. “But, Dean,” he started as Dean grabbed the ACE bandage to start wrapping his leg with it, “we can’t just ignore it.”

Dean clicked his tongue is disappointment. “Why not? Seems like a good idea to me.” Sam frowned at Dean’s cocky smirk – his usual defensive smirk. Sam cringed slightly as Dean pulled the bandage tight around his leg, seemingly more anxious than before. He released an annoyed shout when the clasp for the bandage fell and he was stuck groping around for it with one hand. He found it and clasped the bandage, keeping it secure; Sam pulled his leg back. Dean stood and watched Sam rub his leg for a moment, mind racing with other thoughts.

Again, he saw Belial with Sam, followed by his voice mimicking his brother’s vocals perfectly.

The demon saying what he did to Sam….

Saying it was his face, Dean’s face, that Sam had to see as—

He growled and shook his head, obviously agitated. “Look, Sam”—Sam did not bother looking at him—“I don’t know what the hell’s going on, all right? You’re saying shit didn’t happen when I know damn good and well it did – yeah, that’s right,” he said in response to Sam’s surprised expression. “So you can lie about it all you want, but you can’t bullshit and bullshitter, Sammy.” His heart pounded in his chest as he watched Sam’s shocked eyes darting around. Seeing him try to avoid it only furthered his aggravation. He tried to keep himself from losing it, but the more tense the air became, the more he found himself wanting to fill it. And he could not much stop himself from filling it with the first thing to come into his mind. “I know he fuckin’ shape-shifted-or-whatever, so I know what he made you see…and I know it was me.” At that, Sam looked up at him, eyes connecting with his brother’s bloodshot eyes – the eyes he usually got when his emotions were at the breaking point. “You’re telling me to open up? Well, there it is. You’re my goddamn brother, Sam…. My brother, god…my fuckin’ brother…,” he muttered the last bit as he wiped his face with his left hand, setting the other on his hip as he faced the wall, away from Sam.

The air stayed heavy, neither knowing what to do or what to say. Dean could feel Sam watching him and, for some reason, it only annoyed him even more, but he bit his tongue and, instead, did not acknowledge it.

“Dean.”

Sam’s voice sliced through the tension like lightning through black.

“What?” he snapped, eyebrows creasing his brow.

Sam shook his head, his look empathetic. “It’s all right,” he said, trying to pass it off with a shrug and head shake.

At that, Dean scoffed. “No, it’s not all right! It’s fucking sick! Disgusting! Hell – those words don’t even come close to describing it! Do you have any idea how fucked up I am, right now?!” Though he was trying to calm himself, having everything come out at once, he was cursing himself for allowing himself to become so fired up. He was growing angrier and angrier and could hardly understand why; lashing out at Sam, no less.

“It is sick,” Sam said, oddly calm and voice filled with commiseration.

At the response, Dean’s aggravation intensified and he inhaled deeply, keeping from snapping again. The fact that Sam was not getting heated up bothered Dean. Generally, when they argued or something came to light, there was more banter back-and-forth, but Sam seemed too…composed.

“I won’t lie and say it’s normal.” Sam’s eyes fell off to the side, appearing as though he was searching his own thoughts for words. “But….” He paused, mouth slightly opened, debating. Finally, he shook his head, looking back to Dean with an almost childish look – one rarely seen now that they were older. “If you’re fucked up…then so am I.”

Dean’s shoulders somewhat relaxed, but he stayed tense, nonetheless, staring intently at Sam. “What?”

“Dean, there was a reason he chose to look like you.”

The sentence came out fast as he tried to push them off of his tongue as fast as he could, just to get them said.

“Sammy?”

A nervous laugh escaped Sam’s throat, an awkward half-smile on his face out of the discomfort.

“…we’re alike, Dean…whether or not we want to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favourite chapter to work on, so I hope you all enjoyed it. (^ ^)


	14. Attitude #70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the midst of a hunt, the brothers are caught in a snow storm, leaving them stranded in a small town. It's also stranded a demon bent on revenge and desperate for Dean to suffer by breaking the one person he cares about above all others.

**14**   
**Attitude #70**

“Dean, would you hurry up? We’ll pick something up on the way.”

Sam took the backpack off of his shoulder, looking over the opened door to the Impala to the park across the street; kids were playing while under the supervision of their parents or sitters. The sun reflected brightly off of anything it could gain a reflection off of, including other vehicles, park equipment, windows and the like, a light wind was picking up, rustling the trees and sifting dead ones across the parking lot, calling for anyone out to have on at least a light sweater or jacket. Two and a half weeks later and Dean finally deemed Sam fit enough to pick back up; granted, it took a lot of coercing from Sam and, once his wounds were healed to large scabs, Dean finally caved.

Sam glanced over his shoulder when he heard groaning behind him, along with Dean hauling two different bags. Sam turned back and put the backpack carrying the laptop in the backseat of the car. He pulled back and shut the door just as Dean walked around to the back of the car to put the other bags in the trunk. He slammed the trunk shut and looked to Sam, who raised his brows and set his arms on top of the car.

“Wherever we stop, you can’t bitch.” Sam laughed lightly as Dean walked around to stand behind him. “I gotta say, Sammy, kinda got used to you hobblin’ around. Now you just look stupid.” He smirked when Sam frowned, turning his head to give him a disappointed look. Dean raised his eyebrows and leaned on top of the car next to Sam, who went back to overlooking the park. “You know, if I find out your lying, I’m kicking your ass.”

Sam gave him a look that was a mix between a frown, disappointment and annoyance. “Really? So you’d purposefully make it to where I can’t move. Smart one.”

Dean shrugged, his lip formed to a half-smirk. “Well, I am full of smart ideas. Thing is that I don’t want you pushing yourself and ending up Shit’s Creek without a paddle.”

“Good terminology,” he responded with a light smirk, causing Dean to chuckled and shake his head. “Look, we’ve been over this a thousand times. I’m fine.” He drew out the last sentence.

“Yeah, I know you are.” Sam rolled his eyes at the sarcasm. “Well, let’s get out of here,” he said, pushing off the car. “At this rate, my stomach’s gonna eat itself if I don’t get some damn food.” Dean hit Sam on his back pocket, making him jump and shoot him a glare as he watched Dean walk around the car before getting in on the driver’s side. He followed to do the same, only to the passenger’s side, but not before inhaling the air one last time. He shut the door and adjusted his position as Dean started the car. “Oh…beautiful, I know you’ve been bored without me.”

Sam merely shook his head as Dean pulled out of the parking spot and moved the car onto the road. They passed the park and buildings, heading for highway 61 and leaving the town they had taken up residence for the last two weeks behind, dragging only memories like all places. As Dean went on muttering to himself and cursing Sam for making them leave without food when the motel offered a free continental breakfast, Sam peered out the window, his own thoughts drifting.

As the weeks had gone by, the nightmare, or Night Terrors, as they were more apt to be called, lessened bit by bit. Occasionally, he would wake up, still believing the dreams were reality and what he found truly odd was that, more times than once, Dean would be awake, chalking it up to insomnia; to which Sam knew he was putting on a façade, but he left it alone. Many times, he was hoping Dean would do the same and just let things be, but Dean barely trusted him and he made that quite apparent: he rarely let Sam out of view; whether it was because he was paranoid Sam might have a flashback or because Sam was hardly mobile was left unanswered and unsure. Yet, the remainder of their free time was spent trying to track down whatever demon was bent on getting them out of the picture, since they knew that Belial was only a pawn. Even with his list of contacts, Bobby was also coming up empty-handed and Castiel fared no better; which was a lot to say. For being whatever it was, the demon was incredibly difficult to track down and any other demon that knew anything about them refused to speak, despite interrogation methods known to hunters.

The upside to staying busy with the researching was that it kept their minds off of other matters – matters that they would rather leave in the dark.

Sam was pulled out of his thoughts when the car ran over a pothole, pulling onto the old highway 61. Sam stretched in the seat, receiving a glance from Dean.

“I thought you were gonna stop for food?”

Dean looked back to the road and shrugged. “Oh, don’t worry. We are.” Sam knitted his eyebrows. “That chick at the gas station said there’s a diner on this road with pie to die for.”

Sam’s chest jumped in an odd laugh. “Of course.”

“What?” Dean asked, giving him a curious sideways look. “You can’t argue with pie, Sam.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know you didn’t…bitch.”

Sam only stared back in disbelief. “Jerk.”

There was a moment of silence filling the car right before they both started laughing.

As the tape track in the background fell into the chorus, Dean reached down and turned it up, blaring _Living on a Prayer_ and drowning out all other noise. Sam just continued to laugh as Dean began beating on the steering wheel, bobbing his head as he looked at Sam, following the words of the song.

* * *

Sam’s expression was flooded with disbelief, staring ahead to where they were pulling up to. With the exception of an auto-repair shop, the only thing on the road was a diner – the diner the woman had told Dean about, which was just as rundown as any abandoned building in the Bronx. Even with its remote location, there were cars in the gravel parking lot and two mechanics were seen working on a car in the shop’s garage. Sam turned to look at Dean.

“There is no way you’re serious about this place.”

Dean turned into the parking lot, wheels crunching on the gravel as he pulled into a parking spot next to an old, red Chevrolet pickup truck. He shut the ignition off, took out the keys and leaned back in the seat to turn his head to face his brother. “Oh, I’m always serious when it comes to food. C’mon. Isn’t there some bull about not judging a car by its paintjob or…whatever?” He smirked right before opening the car door and stepping out, shutting it and leaving Sam to scoff and stare out of the windshield to the diner. His gaze followed Dean as his brother knocked on the hood to the Impala, motioning for Sam to get out. Releasing a groan, he followed after Dean, making sure to give the car door an aggravated slam, much to the dismay of the other.

When they entered the diner, they were only acknowledged by one of the servers, who smiled and nodded to them. They returned the gesture before turning to find a table, grabbing an open one in the corner at the end of the metal building. The inside was brightly lit, as were most diners, giving off a cheap, family-oriented feel, much like a Denny’s on Christmas: awkward and way too cheery. Silverware clinked against plates and cups as the people in the diner chattered while enjoying whatever it was they had ordered – more than half of the diner was occupied, proving that, even given their location of outer appearance, they were popular with the surrounding locals.

Menus were tucked between the wall and holder for the condiments. They grabbed the laminated, two-sheet menus and, as Sam began scanning through the items, one of the server’s walked up to the table.

“All right, is this gonna be together or separate?” she asked, a thick southern accent accompanying her voice.

“Together.”

“Awesome – so what can I get started for ya?” She met Dean’s eyes after he had spoken, slipping him a coy smile.

Sam glanced up from the menu, drawing her attention. “Coffee.”

The server nodded and looked to Dean as Sam looked back down. “Better make that two.” He winked and smirked, getting a smile and a close laugh from the waitress.

“All right, I’ll be right back,” she said as she lightly touched Dean’s shoulder before walking away from their table.

Dean watched her walk away, and then turned back to Sam, who was still looking over the menu in front of him. “She’s cute.” Sam did not respond verbally, only nodded; to which Dean exhaled and shook his head. “Well, I thought she was,” he mumbled as he picked up the menu, just failing to catch Sam smirking. “All right. Let’s see what they’ve got – oh my god.” He sounded shocked, staring wide-eyed at the menu, having Sam glance to him with knitted eyebrows.

“What?”

“Dude…they have an entire section dedicated to pie.”

Sam frowned at Dean’s gaped reaction and went back to looking over the menu while Dean gave him a disbelieving look, almost seeming hurt. He exchanged looks of annoyance and went back to the list of assorted desserts, silently cursing his brother. The raven-haired waitress returned moments after, holding a tray with hot coffees and a tin of cream, which she set on the table before placing the tray under her arm.

“Have we come to a decision?” she asked, glancing at Sam, but drawing her full attention to Dean.

“I’ll get a number two,” Sam said as he tucked the menu back between the wall and the holder.

She quickly looked to Sam. “Medium?” He nodded and she diverted her attention back to Dean. “And what about you, handsome?”

“Now I’ve got a question for you,” he started, setting the menu back in its place before looking back to the server, his quirky smile on his face. “Which pie would you say is your best?”

“Well, I’m entitled to say all of them, but if I had to choose a favourite, I’d go with Chef Rob’s Grasshopper.”

With a grin, Dean turned to face Sam. “Well, I think I know what I’m goin’ for.” Sam scoffed, shaking his head, teeth visible as he stared down at the table and began fiddling with the napkin-wrapped utensils. The waitress released a breath that came out in a half-chuckle.

“So a Number Two and a Grasshopper. Don’t worry,” she said, attracting Dean’s attention as she lightly nudged his shoulder with the back of her hand. “I’ll take care of you boys.” She smiled again, leaving their table to put in the orders.

Dean watched her walk away again; as she passed one of the other servers, they exchanged words, making both of them laugh before she went back to the counter. Sam shifting was what drew his attention and he stretched back in his seat before leaning forward with his forearms on the table.

“So what’s a Number Two, anyway?” he asked, reaching back to grab a menu. Sam watched him take one, seemingly only partially paying attention to what was going on. He shook his head, shaking his thoughts; but before he was able to respond, Dean frowned, peeking at him over the laminated sheet. “Really?” the tone being sarcastic.

“What?”

Dean scoffed and put the menu back. “You are such a girl.” He grinned at his brother, who was awkwardly moving his head in a dismissive manner. Dean kicked him under the table, making Sam flinch and glare at him, to which Dean merely winked at him. “Hey, lighten up, Sammy. Smile a bit, would you? Don’t need you all moody.”

“I’m not moody.” His curious look met Dean’s stern gaze.

“Sam…you on the rag aga – OW!” He pulled his leg back and held it under the table, cursing at Sam, who had started laughing. The few people that were around them could not help but glance over at what was happening and, once their curiosity was satiated, they turned back to their own business, whatever it may have been. Dean shot Sam a glare as he sat straight, rubbing his shin, and then stretched it out. He tried to kick Sam in return, but he had been expecting retaliation and moved his legs flush against the seat. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

Sam smirked, raising his eyebrows. He debated on what to answer before coming out with, “Yeah. Actually, I do.”

Dean sneered when Sam laughed at his expression. He muttered something that was inaudible to Sam as he reached for one of the two coffee cups sitting on the table. Apparently, Sam has the same idea, whereas they both ended up reaching for the same cup. Dean fingers fell over Sam’s and they both fell silent. Cautiously, Dean slowly traced his eyes to Sam’s face, who was staring at their met hands. The air seemed to come to a standstill, neither saying a word; but when Dean’s fingers lightly moved, Sam inhaled deeply, tensing, before gripping the cup and pulling his hand back. Immediately following, Dean grabbed the other cup and pulled it in front of him.

“So what’s the name of the town we’re going to, again?” Sam asked, avoiding Dean’s eyes as he grabbed the sugar canister that was against the wall.

“Uh…Cowen.” He watched Sam pour some into his coffee. “Not too far from here, and Bobby wants us to check out the pastor while we’re there. Something about things disappearing from the church or something – kinda sketchy on the details.”

“And what makes him think it’s something up our alley?”

“What’s gone missing. You know, candles, a Bible, a bowl made out of bone”—at that, Sam lifted his head up—“an old grimoire. The usual.”

“Why would a church even have that?” Dean grabbed the canister after Sam had set it down.

“That’s what we’re gonna find out. C’mon, Sam. Are the lights on in that big head of yours?”

“Sorry, they checked out about an hour after you did.” He smirked at Dean’s sneer.

Unfortunately, the past two weeks had been filled with an overabundance of back-and-forth banter – both trying to ignore everything that had happened and everything that had been laid out in the open. For the most part, they acted as though nothing had changed: once or twice, they had even played a prank on each other, which all started when Dean replaced Sam’s toothpaste with hand lotion.

“All right, I have a Number 2 for you.” They both pulled straight as the waitress came back with a plate in each hand. She set the one with an open-faced hamburger in front of Sam, and then went to set a plate with a six-inch thick slice of pie in front of Dean. “And for the man of the hour. Hope you’ve got room, there, cowboy,” she said, pulling back and tucking the tray under her arm.

“Not much he doesn’t have room for,” Sam snorted.

Dean moved his lips in a mocking motion as he grabbed his fork, and, though it was slight, for a moment, Sam thought he caught a glimpse of fury and detest on the server’s face. It was gone as soon before he even blinked. He made a glance to Dean, who did not seem to notice and was solely focused on the food in front of him as he let his fork glide through it.

“Well, I’ll let you two eat,” she spoke again, facing away from the table, her back to Sam. “Let me know how you like it.” She walked away.

As Sam peered down at his food, he heard Dean release a nearly orgasmic moan, looking up to see Dean’s eyes practically rolled back into his head.

“Oh, my god. Best. Pie. Ever.” His words were hardly distinguishable from his full mouth. “You can have your foo foo-soy-whatever.”

While they ate, they discussed the case, though it really had nothing to do with finding out who or what was behind what had happened to them, they needed something to do in the meantime. If luck begot them, they would end up finding out information about it, anyway. A few times, whenever Sam would look up at Dean while they spoke, he could see their server in the background and occasionally eyeing Dean; once or twice, she noticed Sam’s eyes on her, which received narrowed eyes at being caught, or, at least, he figured that was the reason.

He had only eaten half of his burger before being done, which was about the same time Dean was taking the last bite of his food. He wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin on the plate, leaning back in the seat.

“I think we should get one for the road.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s exactly what we need – you getting fat.”

Dean grabbed the napkin he had put on his plate and threw it at Sam. It lightly hit him in the chest and fell onto his lap. “I can’t get fat, Sammy. Have you ever seen a fat hunter? Don’t answer that,” he said quickly when Sam’s looked changed; his younger brother immediately shut his mouth. Sam looked down and grabbed the napkin, putting it on his own plate, instead.

Not a moment later, their server came back up to the table.

“How was everything?” she asked, again focusing her attention on Dean.

“You were right,” Dean replied, having her raise her eyebrows.

“Oh?”

“Best pie I’ve ever had. Well…second best.” He gave her a smile, which was returned with a laugh.

“Guess I’ll have to tell Rob to step it up a notch, huh?”

From his peripheral vision, Dean caught Sam rolling his eyes and adverting his gaze off to the side, staring at the menus tucked behind the condiments. Dean cleared his throat and released an awkward laugh. “Yeah…. So, if we can go ahead and get the check.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, sweetie. It’s already paid for.” She waved her hand in front of her face.

Dean’s eyebrows rose and he leaned back; Sam, too ended up looking up at the waitress, curiosity plaguing both of their faces. “From…?”

“Oh, the man at the bar,” she said, seemingly awkward. She slipped Dean a coy smile. “Looks like you charm more than just girls. Be sure you come back and see me next time you’re in town and I’ll treat you to a slice, myself.” She ended the statement with a wink and a light touch on Dean’s arm before walking away from the table.

Dean shifted uncomfortably and leaned on the table with his elbows as he glanced around the diner, eyes just passing over the only man at the bar, with his back towards them, as he looked to Sam. “Yeah, ‘cause that’s not disturbing or creepy or anything. Of course…I do tend to have a certain charm with everyone, eh?”

He grinned when Sam tensed his mouth and glared at him.

“That’s not funny,” his voice serious with an undertone of a stifled laugh.

“Yeah…it was.” He leaned to pull out his wallet and take out a five and a few ones. “Definitely worth making both of us feel awkward for a minute, because it is so much worse for you.” He laughed and tossed the cash on the table, moving to stand up before Sam ended up throwing something at him.

Sam shifted his body to the side to follow after. “Dude…I’m going to kill you long before we get to Cowan if you keep that up.” They began walking to the diner’s main door.

“Sheesh, such a buzz-kill.” They passed right by their waitress on their way out and, when she noticed them, Sam nodded to her and Dean raised his hand. “Thanks again. And I’ll definitely be coming back to take you up that offer.”

She smiled seductively. “It’ll be open. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Dean nodded, a close-lipped smile attached to his face. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He looked over his shoulder to Sam. “Well, come on, honey, let’s get back on the road.”

He hit Sam in the chest and quickly left the diner, leaving Sam to stand there awkwardly for a moment with a dumbfounded look on his face as he was left in the waitress’s presence. He laughed nervously at the obvious look of confusion and anger on her face at, what she assumed to be being played, before coming out with, “Have a good one,” and hastily following after his brother.

By the time he was out of the diner, Dean was already standing by the Impala, blatantly amused by his previous actions. “Let’s saddle up and get the hell out of here!” he called as Sam walked over. He turned towards the car as Sam walked around it and grabbed the handle, stepping sideways as he opened the door. “Awe. Why the long face?” He laughed at Sam’s aggravated look. He did not even respond, just got into the car and shut the door. Dean scoffed. “Such a drama queen,” he muttered, opening the driver’s side door and shutting it once he was in. He fixated himself in his seat, not yet starting the car, and, instead, looked at Sam. “Come on. Lighten up. No need to get your balls in a knot.” He muttered the last part as he grabbed the keys and shoved them into the ignition, turning them and starting the car.

Sam clicked his seat belt, the ends of his mouth curved downward into a frown. “Lighten up? Dude, like everything isn’t awkward enough without your commentary.”

Dean followed suit, and then leaned back in the seat, putting his foot on the brake as he shifted the car into reverse. “I’m just trying to make light of the situation. You were the one who said we couldn’t ignore it, Sammy. Besides”—he turned the car to head out of the parking lot and back onto the road—“now that I’m actually aware of all this crap, I think your jealousy’s kind of cute.”

“Dean, shut up!”

Sam was gawking at him incredulously as Dean started laughing. He made a quick sideways glance to Sam, who was open-mouthed. “Damn. I didn’t think you could turn that shade of red.”

Sam brought up his hand to wipe his face, turning away from Dean to stare out of the window to the passing scenery. “You are such a dick. We are not gonna talk about this.”

Dean shrugged his head off to the side. “Fine.” He reached across Sam’s lap to open the glove compartment, making quick glances from the road to the compartment’s innards as he searched through the cassette tapes. Sam’s brow furrowed as he watched him. Finally, he found the tape he was looking for and pulled back, ejected the one that was already inserted, tossed it back into the glove compartment, shut the door and injected the other one into the player. He pressed the forward button to shift through the five tracks and sat back in the driver’s seat just as the introduction for Ohio Players’ _Love Rollercoaster_ started playing.

Sam choked on his breath and looked at Dean.

“Seriously?”

Dean faced him, head bobbing to each beat. As the lyrics started up, Dean started ad-libbing. “I made Sammy…go red, see that? Made him jealous…with the wai-ai-tress.”

Sam nodded his head, clearly annoyed. “You are so dead.”

“You’re lookin’ so angry - thinks it makes me quiver,” he kept going, further aggravating his brother. “Need to lighten up and get some humor.” Sam reached down to shut it off, but Dean grabbed his hand to stop him, acting to become passionate with the song. “Don’t be angry, ‘cause you know that—”

“Seriously, knock it off!” As Dean kept going, they began fighting over the stereo, Dean continually knocking Sam’s hands out of the way as they bickered like children, which lasted well into the next song as they headed toward Cowan, Tennessee.

* * *

“You really think that worked?” The waitress that had taken care of Sam and Dean looked to her co-worker, who was leaning on the counter behind the bar, watching the people in the diner. “I mean…what was the point of it at all? It seems pretty ridiculous.”

They both turned to look at the man sitting at the bar; the same man that had paid for the boys’ meal. He did not even glance at them, only continued to eat his meal. After a couple of bites, he wiped his mouth and grabbed the coffee mug next to him, taking a sip from it before setting it back down on the counter. He pushed his plate away.

“One step at a time.” The woman frowned at the response. “It will be easier to get to Sam than Dean.”

“I don’t know. It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go about it this way,” the boys’ server commented, drawing her co-worker’s attention, whereas the man did not even acknowledge her speaking. “And what if you’re wrong and it doesn’t work? Then the only thing you’ll have accomplished is pissing them off further – I’d rather not antagonize them even more.” When she did not get a response, her gaze lowered. “You know it’s only a matter of time before they find out who you are, so why are you so cocky?”

He finally looked up at her, his eyes dark. “Out of all of us, you should be the last one to doubt me, Fleurety. After all, what would the Boss think if he found out you didn’t trust his judgment?” She bit down on her jaw, but did not reply. “If you all could have gotten it done, he wouldn’t have needed me, so quit bitching.”

The other waitress rolled her eyes. “Would you all stop fighting all the goddamn time? Just bite the bullet and get it done - it’s what we’re told to do. And if you two want to piss the Boss off, be my guest. But don’t take me down with you.” The man shrugged and tore his gaze away from them as the other server scoffed and turned her attention to picking up items strewn about on the counter. “So, what do you think?” she asked as she turned back to face the man with the full head of gray hair, who had gone back to holding the coffee mug. She watched him take a sip from his coffee cup and set it back on the bar, staring at the liquid in the cup. “I’ll be honest: I didn’t expect the Winchesters to be so…clueless.” She looked back at the door where they had left moments ago. “Hard to believe those are the hunters everyone’s so worked up about. They act like children.”

The other server was heard collecting plates before she passed by her carrying a plate full of food. “That’s the understatement of the century. Still, though. It was pretty comical watching Sam Winchester squirm like a trapped roach. I wonder if he’s aware he does that?”

“Doubt it. Well…thanks to Belial playing around, they’re both probably more aware of everything. Upside: makes them easier to get to, because their guard’s down. All that, if I may put it, sexual tension’s going to get to them even worse, now.” The other stuck her tongue out as she went to drop off food to one of the tables. The brown-haired woman turned her attention back to the man. “What’s your plan, then, now, Barbas? Just watch them squirm for a bit?”

The man looked up at her, his eyes black as a sly grin found its way to his face. “Only for a little bit longer.”

She raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms, a smug look on her face. “What are you planning in that head of yours?”

He grinned and leaned back on the stool, keeping his hands on the counter. He shrugged at the look she was giving him. “You always think I’m planning something, don’t you?” He sighed and leaned forward on the counter again when her look went unfazed.

“Well, I’m still trying to figure you out. After all, you got that worthless prick Belial to do what you wanted, but what makes you so sure the Winchesters won’t figure you out and come after you, next? Fleurety’s right on this one: it seems a bit risky, if you ask me.”

“That’s why I didn’t ask you.” She frowned. “You have to understand, Satanachia, this plan’s been in motion for a while. I’m making sure to cover my tracks. After all…they don’t even know my name.”

She let a sly smile come across her face, her eyes darkening as scenarios ran across her mind. “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?” she asked, voice amused.

“Oh, I think this is going to be a lot more fun than anyone realizes.” He picked up the fork from his plate, holding it up in front of him, studying it intently as he spoke. “And the best part about it is”—he suddenly threw it straight off to the side, embedding it into the woman’s neck, who was sitting two seats down—“the show’s just getting started.”

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, show of hands, how many people recognized the names in the final part? 
> 
> I did have a sequel planned for this, but I got stuck a few chapters and lost my muse to work on it. (sigh)  
> Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading! (^ ^)

**Author's Note:**

> If you have comments or questions, please let me know and I'll get back!! (^ ^*)  
> Let me know what you think!


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